


A Manhattan Catastrophe

by inb4invert, SweetSorcery



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Seduction, Autumn, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Baking, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Board Games, Candles, Cats, Clumsiness, Comfort, Cooking, Courtship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Day in the Park, Dinner, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Falling In Love, Feeding, Feels, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time Blow Jobs, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Gift Giving, Grocery Shopping, Halloween, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Huddling For Warmth, Inappropriate Erections, Just Add Kittens, Kissing, Lawyer Original Percival Graves, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Living Together, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Monopoly (Board Game), Moving In Together, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Neighbors, New York City, Online Shopping, Picnics, Pining, Possessive Original Percival Graves, Protective Original Percival Graves, Public Display of Affection, Rain, Rimming, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Gestures, Scents & Smells, Shower Sex, Slash, Sleeping Together, Slow Burn, Stargazing, Student Credence Barebone, Sugar Daddy, Television Watching, Touching, Touchy-Feely, Veterinary Clinic, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-10-17 16:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 54,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20623802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inb4invert/pseuds/inb4invert, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetSorcery/pseuds/SweetSorcery
Summary: When Graves' posh, purebred feline gets up to mischief with his Boho neighbour's scrawny ball of fluff, an angry visit to the culprit's home seems a good idea. At least until the front door opens... Now Graves' life will never be the same again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   


One thousand dollars might seem like a lot to spend on a cat (_it is_), but Percival Graves, Esq. knows the value of the absolute _best_. And a Burmilla undoubtedly qualifies as nothing less. 

Now, some might say that a Burmilla isn’t nearly as exotic as, perhaps, a Savannah (some _do_ say so, and they're _wrong_), but Queenie is perfect. White fur tipped with smoky silver, and emerald eyes so strikingly framed in black one could almost believe they'd been lined with kohl… Here in Manhattan, she's as beautiful and exotic as it can get, and she's the apple of Graves' (highly discerning) eye. 

Taking all this into consideration, it should come as no surprise that he was… _frantic_ might be the kindest word here… on the night he had discovered she'd somehow escaped off the second floor balcony of his Greenwich Village brownstone. It was bad enough she'd gotten out--it was even worse that she was in heat at the time. The first thing he'd thought is that it would _never_ have happened in his Tribeca penthouse, where even the chance of escape would have been close to impossible. But it had been the weekend and he'd felt they both could use a change of scene (his Tribeca neighbours could do without the intermittent yowling as well). Apparently Queenie had been looking for even more adventure than he himself had bargained for, and he'd spent the entire long night anxious (edit: nearly _sick_ with grief), pacing the street outside with his phone held to his ear. 

He'd called animal control, every nearby neighbour whose number he actually knew, even the _police_ in the end. It had been close to dawn when he'd finally returned home, dejected and close to tears until a fitful three hours’ sleep had overcome him where he perched on the sofa waiting for a call. 

And then, around a quarter to eight in the morning, the front doorbell had rung and, (thank _God_), there she was squirming in the grip of the closest neighbour to the right. 

"Isn't she yours?" the woman had asked stupidly (who _else_ would she belong to, she's a _Burmilla_), jostling both the cat and an oversized Louis Vuitton tote in her meticulously salon-tanned arms. 

"Yes!" Graves had sagged in relief, genuinely grateful despite the barely suppressed shudder he'd felt at seeing his beloved Queenie in the hands of anyone but himself. 

"Oh, come here, love," he'd cooed, reaching to disentangle the cat and pull her close, back to where she belonged. "Where did you find her?" 

"I couldn't believe my eyes!" the neighbour had said. "I was on my way to get an espresso before my nail appointment and there she was, just _sunning_ herself on that 'boho student' boy's front stoop!" 

Graves had narrowed his eyes, and this time, the shudder came through. "_Boho student_ boy?" 

“Oh, don’t you know who I mean? That boy, the tall one with the black hair… he lives in one of _those buildings_ towards the end of the block, across the street.” 

Graves had known exactly which buildings she meant, as well as exactly which boy. And the information did not meet with his favour, _at all_. 

He had seen him now and then, mostly to notice the way his once-closely shorn hair had been let to grow wild over the passing months, obscuring his face as he made his slouching way along the street. That in itself didn’t bother Graves overly much, but his hair wasn’t the only thing that had been let to go wild… 

That boy had a cat as well, he’d noticed. It had been an easy thing to notice, too, because the skinny little thing was practically _free-range_. Free enough to prowl outside his brownstone several times at least, serenading Queenie throughout the night during her heat. From his second floor balcony, he had, on more than one occasion, remarked aloud (to Queenie, of course), “Do you see that? Imagine, letting your cat wander all about Manhattan like it’s some sort of _hippie_ commune!” Always, after just such a moment, he’d scratched beneath her chin, admiring the Swarovski-studded pale blue band of her Tiffany collar. “I’d never do something like that to _you_, would I?” 

Because it was absolutely true. More than understanding what qualified as the best, Graves understood what was _his_. His to care for, his to keep and admire, his to protect. And his to _love_. Graves owned a great many things of value, but of them all, Queenie was the only one that he truly cherished. On that day she’d been returned to him, he had sat back down on the sofa and briefly wept, so great was his relief. Queenie, for her part, had sat perched at his side, blinking her cool, sphynx-like gaze and looking entirely unruffled by the whole affair. 

But, as it happens, she had _not_ been unruffled. In fact, she had been quite thoroughly _ruffled_ and more. 

At first, over the following week, Graves had managed to convince himself that no real harm had been done. Things had settled down to their usual pace and Queenie had seemed normal enough… until she became suddenly and decidedly more affectionate than usual. Cuddly, even.

Queenie wasn’t exactly _aloof_ for the most part, but she certainly had a more active and independent temperament. When, at the end of the week, she had begun rubbing against his legs as he passed, (or that one time he'd woken to find her curled up in his _bed_!), he had known that something was definitely amiss. Another week of observation had ensued, with Graves torn between his growing concern, and his growing enjoyment of her newfound clinginess. 

“Well, she’s definitely carrying a litter,” his vet had told him, beaming across the room at Graves, Queenie twisting and preening happily on the steel examination table between them. “I know how difficult it is to pure breed something like her here in New York,” he went on, “but impregnation alone is quite an achievement. Now, I will caution you against making plans here, she may not carry the litter to full term, with this being a first pregnancy.” 

Graves had allowed the vet to believe that the entire situation was something that he’d wanted, unwilling to endure the embarrassment of having an accidentally pregnant Burmilla on his miserable hands. Once they’d made it back home, he’d simply glowered at her, hardly able to stomach the thought of her one-time midnight dalliance. “I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he’d said, huffing in disbelief as she merely blinked innocently up from her cat bed. “How many _were_ there?” he’d whispered, the horror of it all slowly growing.

But, somehow, he already _knew_. The late night serenades below the Greenwich Village balcony, Queenie sunning herself happily on the neighbour’s stoop… _that boy_. That boy and his scruffy, utterly _common_ black cat.

He’d waited for six more weeks, hoping against hope that the pregnancy would just… fizzle out, and feeling guilty for wishing it the whole while. Queenie was sweetly preparing, having chosen a linen closet in the Tribeca high rise for her nest and purring contentedly more than he’d ever heard her do since she was a kitten. Every time he had met her sparkling green gaze, he’d felt ashamed for wanting what he knew would only be a tragedy for her. In the end, he’d been left with only one week of denial left ahead of him, the vapours of which were diminishing rapidly. The only thing left to him before the kittens finally came was his out-right indignation over the whole affair. The temptation had been as strong for him as the need to mate had been for poor Queenie, and both urges were firmly rooted back in Greenwich Village. The ‘boho student boy’ had to answer for this.

So there he was, one very pregnant cat tucked beneath his arm and one hand on the door knocker of the brownstone at the end of the block.

***

Credence enthusiastically opened his front door with a, “Hi!”

He was already holding out both hands to receive the Hawaiian pizza he’d ordered, when instead he saw a vaguely familiar looking cat being snatched out of his reach. “Queenie?” he asked, grinning, then he looked up and met the eyes of the man holding her. He brushed a long strand of black hair out of his right eye and found himself blinking at the suave-looking man from further down the road. He smiled. 

“Hello.”

“How... on Earth... do you--” The man stammered, his face going through a range of expressions from angry to stunned, taking a detour via shocked and confused. He took a moment to settle his features, and especially his big dark brows, into the angry setting and held out his cat again, to within a couple of inches of Credence’s face. “She is _queening_!”

Credence arched his neck just in time to prevent the playful swipe of a greeting paw catching him on the tip of his nose. He giggled--which did funny things to the man’s face--while saying, “Yes, I know.”

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” The cat was pulled back again.

Credence frowned. “I know her name, what’s the problem, sir?”

“This…” The man held her up and jiggled her a little bit, very gently. “This is the problem.”

Credence grinned. “I think she’s cute all chubby like that, but why are you telling _me_ off? I have enough trouble keeping Kowalski fed.”

Holding his cat--who did not look impressed by all the hijinx--protectively against his chest, and soothing her with chin scratches, the man seemed to get a bit desperate. “This is unbelievable. Do I need to go away and come back and start all over again?” he asked grumpily.

Credence shrugged. “If you think it’ll help. I can wait right behind the door. I’ve got a pizza coming anyway.”

Shifting the cat to one arm only, so he could rub his forehead as if he had a headache coming on, the man said, very slowly, as if he was speaking to an idiot, “My cat is queening, and it’s your fault!”

Credence, with a long history of being blamed for things he hadn’t done, furrowed his brow. “I didn’t name her!” he protested. “What’s wrong with her name, anyway? I think it’s nice.”

“Mrow!” agreed an excited little voice, and a small black blur leapt up as high as Credence’s right hip.

“Hey, Kowalski.” Credence crouched down, his knee poking through the front of his ripped jeans and his poncho dragging across the doorstep as he petted the small round head. He laughed when Kowalski walked back and forth across the fuzzy corner of his poncho before letting himself be picked up.

The man from down the road was cringing, and leaning back with a look of pure horror at the sight of Credence’s pride and joy.

“What?” Credence asked, feeling hurt on his cat’s behalf.

“There’s the culprit,” the man grumbled. “The _villain_ of the entire affair!”

Credence thought it was a pity that someone so nice-looking, and with such a warm voice and teddy bear eyes, should turn out to be so crazy.

Kowalski, at any rate, only had eyes for the man’s cat, stretching out his paws and trying to bridge the impossible gap between the two humans, yowling discontentedly when, despite Queenie’s best attempts to do the same, they got no closer to each other.

“So, did you just come over to insult my cat, sir, or was there another reason?” Credence held Kowalski against his chest, cupping his head affectionately and rubbing his cheek against his sad little face. “It’s okay, munchkin,” he cooed, taking hold of the paw patting at his jaw and squeezing the little toes. “You know I love you.”

“Meow…” Kowalski replied mournfully, nuzzling into his chest, front paws on Credence’s collarbones inside the V of his jeans shirt.

Credence tickled the little tuft of fur on top of Kowalski’s head, smiling when it made him purr as it always did, even when he couldn’t get hold of his fancy cat lady. When he butted his head against the underside of Credence’s chin and swiped his raspy tongue up over it, Credence met the eyes of the man from across the street. 

“Uh…” The man was staring at him, looking as if he’d just walked into a glass door he hadn’t expected and given himself a concussion. 

If they were in a cartoon, Credence figured there’d be chirping birds circling above his head. He decided to give him just a few more seconds to recover from whatever had happened to him before closing his own door on him.

“My cat is pregnant,” the man said. “She is quee-ning. It means she is soon to give birth.”

Credence blinked. “Oh.”

Mechanically, the man went on, “Her name is Queenie, which you know, though I can’t imagine how.”

“You were going around calling her for hours a few weeks ago, and some woman came and got her off my door stoop the next morning, saying ‘Aren’t you Queenie? What are you doing in this horrible place?’”

The man looked half-ashamed at that. “Well, I… She only got out that one night, and… your cat there…” He pointed an accusing finger at Kowalski. “He’d been serenading her!”

Credence’s eyes opened wide with dawning understanding. “Oh, I see.” He looked down at Kowalski, who poked his tongue out at him. “You naughty thing!”

“Is that _all_ you can say… uh… what’s your name?”

Credence narrowed his eyes at him. “You knocked on _my_ door. You first.”

“Your cat knocked up _my_ cat!” The man huffed, then looked like he made an effort to calm down. “Graves. Percival Graves.”

“Credence Barebone.” Credence shifted Kowalski in his arms, nuzzling him once more. “He’s been in love with her ever since you carried her into your house in that fancy case. It was the day I first brought _him_ home, too. We walked past you.”

The man’s jaw dropped, and his eyebrows tilted in a funny way. “What?” He stared at Credence for a long moment, then at Kowalski. “Where did he come from? What… is he?”

“What breed? I have no idea. I found him in a box behind the coffee shop where I work; it’s called _Kowalski’s_, so…” He shrugged.

“In a _box_.” Mr Graves looked ready to lie down on the spot and cry into Credence’s cracked terracotta pot.

Credence kissed the top of Kowalski’s head and smiled proudly. “You’re going to be a daddy!”

“Meow!” Kowalski looked triumphant.

“Puuurr,” agreed Queenie, who’d largely kept out of the whole thing and merely observed. She nuzzled against her grumpy owner, then seemed to settle in for a nap in his arms, just as if all had now been arranged to her satisfaction.

Mr Graves looked back and forth between all three of them as though he was the only sane creature present.

***

Graves was used to juggling several apartments, bank accounts, multiple high profile cases, even cars….

What he _wasn’t_ accustomed to was managing so many conflicting emotions. He couldn’t seem to decide which one needed his attention most: his irritation at how simply cheerful the boy seemed to be at the prospect of _mutt_ kittens, his confusion and growing paranoia over the fact that he knew his _cat’s name_ (did everyone on the whole _block_ know his business?), or the way something… fluttered just beneath his sternum at the sight of the scrawny black cat butting his head beneath the boy’s (delicately sculpted) chin.

Credence was so free in his affection, even in the presence of a total stranger, and apparently enough of a bleeding heart to have brought home a cat from out of a cardboard box (without any papers or _anything_!) He could barely wrap his brain around it, and the one feeling that seemed to dominate over all the others was the growing understanding that, somewhere along the way, he’d lost control of his carefully ordered world. He couldn’t be more overwhelmed than if he’d had a daughter (close enough to it, really) who had just come home to announce that she’d eloped with a rock star (_definitely_ close enough). And this long-haired boy with his smiling honey brown eyes and infectious good cheer was to blame for it all. Graves was a lawyer, he knew the ways of the world, and one thing he knew for certain: you keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. And another thing he knew--you make sure that you get your fair compensation.

“Listen,” he said, peering behind Credence into the shady recesses of his rundown brownstone (good _god_ is that a granny square afghan…?)

“I think. I think that since this is essentially _your_ responsibility, and the kittens are likely due in a week, it only makes sense that you should help me in dealing with it.” 

Credence stroked his pale hand over his cat’s black fur again and again, drawing Graves’ eyes momentarily to the soothing motion. ‘Must be nice,’ he thought, ‘when was the last time I booked a massage, anyway…’ When the boy smiled calmly, the shift in expression drew Graves’ eyes back up to his face to see that he was beginning to nod. 

“That does make sense,” he began, drawing a sigh of something like relief out of Graves. At least _something_ was beginning to go his way. 

“What can I do to help?” 

Graves cleared his throat. “Well, there’s no knowing, really, when the kittens will arrive exactly. And I’m certainly not going to be having her give birth to them here, in Greenwich.” He scratched at the back of his neck with one hand, asking himself why he felt so suddenly bashful over something he’d been all fire about only moments ago. Queenie twisted in his arms, chirping inquisitively with what could only be called a longing look in Kowalski’s direction. “I’m going to need some help,” he finished, “and it only makes sense that you should come and… and stay at my place in Tribeca until the kittens have been delivered.” 

Credence stared back at him with a disbelieving look. “Stay? At your place?” 

What was the matter with this kid, was there an echo in here? “Yes,” he rolled his eyes. “They could come at any moment, what if I’m at work, or… or it’s the middle of the night, and…“

Credence began to smile, a warm and melting thing that had Graves’ words faltering. “Aw,” he sighed, smile growing into a grin. “I think maybe _you’re_ the one who’s going to be a ‘daddy’. You’re worried about her!”

Something about the smile, or the words they’d preceded, had Graves’ face paling so quickly he could feel it. “I’m _not_ worried, I just… don’t think I deserve to be left alone in this situation when you and that… that cat…” 

“It’s okay,” Credence told him, brows gently raised and speaking calmly as though placating a distraught child. “I’ll come and help you.” He looked into Kowalski’s purring face, jiggling him a bit in his arms. “You hear that, pops? We’re going uptown!” 

Graves was definitely losing control, watching his life rapidly shift into something altogether unfamiliar. 

“...We?” he choked.


	2. Chapter 2

Graves was standing on the doorstep, wondering just how exactly he’d gotten himself so far into _whatever_ this was, when the anticipated pizza delivery man came up the steps behind him. 

“Oh, I’ll just run inside and get my wallet!” Credence said, setting Kowalski down, only to have the cat immediately begin winding himself around Graves’ legs, tail vibrating. 

“No no, please,” Graves said, waving his hand dismissively, and for a moment Credence looked as though he believed it was the closeness of his villain cat the man was protesting. He frowned, his expression faintly hurt--or perhaps it was something more like disappointment as he began to stoop again, reaching for the cat. 

“I’ll get this,” Graves explained. Still cradling Queenie (and her hidden cargo) in his arms, he reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat, pulling out his wallet as he turned to the delivery man. “Credence, would you take the pizza from him, I’m afraid you’re the only one here with a free hand.” 

He glanced down, pausing at the sight of Credence still crouched down next to Kowalski at his feet. The boy was looking up at him with a face slowly filling with a confused sort of wonder: either at his unexpected offer to pay for the food, or his casually commanding way of doing it, or both. ‘Or maybe,’ Graves thought to himself, ‘he just doesn’t understand how contrary you’re clearly turning out to be.’ He blinked once, then twice, suddenly flustered at the way the afternoon light fell soft over high cheekbones and warm brown eyes at this angle… and the fact of the angle itself. For him to look so undeniably _appreciative_ over nothing so much as a ten dollar pizza was one thing--for him to be looking that way while essentially kneeling before him was entirely another.

Graves cleared his throat, breaking the gaze abruptly. “Credence?” he asked. 

The boy shot up to his feet again alongside him, apparently flushed from the minor exertion. “Um, Mr Graves, you don’t have to do this, I--” 

Graves shook his head and nodded towards the waiting delivery in a manner that brooked no further argument. “I think we’d all be rather grateful to get off this porch. The evening’s about to turn cold on us here and so is your pie.” 

“O- okay… of course.” Credence took the warm box into his hands and stood blushing as Graves paid the man with a noticeably generous tip. _Very_ noticeably.

Once the delivery man had hopped down the steps and back to his car, Credence turned to him with the box in his hands, eyes wide. “Did you…. did you just give that guy like, _fifty_ bucks?” 

“I didn’t give him ‘like’ fifty dollars, I gave him exactly fifty,” Graves answered, completely unperturbed. “Is that unusual?”

“Yeah,” Credence nodded slowly, “at least where I come from, that’s definitely unusual. To pay four times the price for a pizza.” He tilted his head, seeming to consider. “You don’t really order pizza all that often, do you?” It came out as more of an assertion than a question. 

“No, I can’t say that I do.” 

Credence sighed, shrugging. “Well, will you come inside with me and help me eat some of this while I get my stuff together? I mean, assuming we’re still coming with you…” 

“We,” Graves repeated again, then shook off the objection he’d been on the brink of saying. He hadn’t been bargaining on Credence bringing that cat along with him, but already he knew there was no hope in arguing the point. It was more than likely he had no one else to care for the thing, and with Halloween coming up, well… Graves had heard more than one horror story from a few feline breeder friends about the things that could happen to black cats over that particular holiday. He wasn’t fond of the animal--he’d jump to proclaim it, but he also wasn’t some sort of ogre. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose you’ll need some things.” 

Credence’s sudden grin was enough to throw him almost entirely off his axis and for a second he couldn’t understand why, until he realised how seldom it was that someone showed him such easy gratitude. He might not be one to go out of his way in the course of pleasing others, but the way that look on Credence’s face made him feel… he could see himself becoming compelled to win that look more than once. 

“Great!” Credence said. “And thank you, for the pizza… that was really kind of you, especially when you’re not exactly impressed with me, considering.” 

Before Graves could object to the boy’s take on things, he and Queenie were being ushered into the brownstone, Kowalski trailing behind them. 

He hadn’t been expecting the place to be all that much in the interior, but looking around, Graves quickly realised it was far less than even that. The layout itself was relatively the same as many of the buildings along the street, but the similarities stopped there (and it was _definitely_ a granny square afghan that he’d spotted draped over the couch). 

The paint on the walls was faded and beginning to peel in spots, and the bare floors hadn’t seen any decent maintenance since quite possibly the time of Credence’s birth. A glance back to the living room showed him how sparsely furnished the place really was--and there was essentially nothing in the way of any real decoration--no art on the walls, or patterned rugs over the floor. Unconsciously, Graves pulled Queenie even closer to himself, as if to protect her from the spartan surroundings. As they made their way towards the kitchen, he asked, “You mentioned how people do things where you’re from. Where exactly is that, anyhow?” 

“Oh, Two Bridges,” Credence called back over his shoulder, already far enough ahead of him to have begun pulling out a couple of plates from a cupboard over the sink. He set them down on a little thrift shop formica table in the corner where he’d already deposited the steaming pizza. “I hope you’re okay with the pineapple,” he said, settling down into a matching chair with a split running down the length of its (avocado green!) pleather backing. “I know some people don’t like it.” 

Graves was less than thrilled at the prospect of letting Queenie go in a place like this, especially not with Kowalski snooping around no doubt somewhere nearby, but he couldn’t quite see his way around it for the time being. “Is there any way she can get out?” he asked cautiously, taking the only other chair (this one blessedly free of unsightly cracks, at least, though not much could be done about the colour). 

Credence regarded him again with that calm, and slightly touched, smile. “No, everything should be closed up tight right now, since the heater broke last week,” he answered, before a considering pause. “You… you really care about her, don’t you?”

For a moment Graves simply contemplated the revelation that there was, at one point, a single heater, and now there was none. He tried to imagine any scenario wherein he himself might be looking at spending a winter in New York without any heat and still smiling, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine it, and what’s more, he’d never had to. Only then did Credence’s other statement catch up to him. 

“Well,” he tried his best to sound non-committal. “Queenie was, and still is, quite an investment. I’ve had intentions to breed her from the start.” 

Credence paused in the process of pulling a slice of pizza onto his plate, thin ropes of melted cheese stretching like greasy tendrils into the box. “Then…. this whole situation is a good thing, right?” 

Graves cleared his throat awkwardly. A few minutes ago, outside, it would have been easy to say that Kowalski was the absolute last thing he’d intended for either himself or his cat. But now, breaking bread in the boy’s home and faced with his hopeful smile, something almost imperceptible had shifted. Once again Graves was overcome with that strange sensation of having quite lost the thread of his own life. “I had designs on pure breeding, I should say. Queenie is, uh… she’s quite rare. Burmillas aren’t actually even on the US registry at this point.”

“There’s a _registry_? For cats?” Graves wanted to be irritated, he really did. Still, something about the sweetly surprised look Credence gave him reminded him entirely too much of… well, Queenie herself. Queenie was rare, but this type of open-faced innocence had to be nothing but a myth amongst humans, at least in modern day New York. Didn’t it? 

“Credence, how did you come to be here? In this house? All… alone.” 

The boy sort of sighed around a mouthful of pizza and raised his brows, thinking as he chewed. “Well,” he finally said, “we lived in Two Bridges, like I said. In a small church actually, on Pike Street. But I managed to get a scholarship with this program, and basically, this is their property. They’ve had it for ages and they use it to house whoever’s receiving the program. We didn’t have much, so scholarship was the way to go, and I had to get out of--well, it was time to get moving on in life, you know?”

Graves watched him pick at a wedge of pineapple and thought to himself, ‘how little did they have at this church, for _this_ to be an improvement?’

***

Credence would have dearly liked to bite off his own tongue, to have let slip anything about his former life, but it had been the source of enough pain as it was. He tried to distract himself, and Mr Graves, with an easy smile and a shrug, pretending the memories weren’t dampening his appetite. Besides… he’d rather be distracted by looking at Mr Graves.

He had to be the strangest man he’d ever met, though not the bad kind of strange. Credence considered himself a bit of an expert on the latter. Mr Graves, he was quite sure, was actually very kind. There he was, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but in his shabby place, eating pizza with the horrible boy whose cat decided to mess up his cat breeding plans, and yet… he sounded, and looked, concerned for him. It was really quite sweet.

Like tipping the pizza delivery guy enough to probably feed his own family for a couple of days at least. And he hadn’t done it in a condescending way, like some rich folks might; it was as if he was simply clueless about how far that kind of money went when you have very little to start with, but was happy to share it without a fuss.

Credence felt that earlier blush returning at the memory of _how_ Mr Graves had gone about it. The way he’d just _taken charge_, deciding what needed to be done, and how it was to be done. It might have been a little thing like sorting out a pizza delivery but, to Credence, who’d had to learn to fend for himself very suddenly, and who didn’t feel he was all that good at it yet, that sort of commanding presence was quite something to see. Especially from the position he’d been in at the time! Oh god, the man would have been _horrified_ if he could have read his mind. He inhaled sharply, and a bit of pineapple went down the wrong way, starting a coughing fit.

“Credence, are you okay?” Mr Graves leapt up.

Credence waved his hand around, nodding.

Mr Graves was already halfway to his wobbly little fridge. He got a bottle of water out and opened it on the way back to him, and Credence took it gratefully, gulping down a quarter of the contents. He was fine by then, actually. He drank it less to soothe his throat and more to cool down his face, which he knew had to be on fire.

“Nothing stuck in your throat?” Mr Graves asked, giving him a few gentle taps on the back anyway, probably just in case, along with a worried two-sided triangle eyebrow arrangement as he looked down at him.

Credence smiled and shook his head. “Not anymore. Thanks for this.” He set down the water bottle and was surprised the man was still just looking at him as if expecting him to go down from delayed suffocation. “I’m good, honestly.”

“Good. Right.” Mr Graves’ tapping had turned into gentle, circular rubs of his hand between Credence’s shoulder blades. Suddenly, he cleared his throat and returned to his chair, not quite meeting Credence’s eyes. “Well, you know people have died choking on a piece of food.”

Credence nodded solemnly. “I know.” He figured he was probably looking at Mr Graves in a really stupid, soppy way, but he could still feel the warm spot on his back. “I don’t think I’m in any danger now though.”

Mr Graves nodded, then looked around frantically, as if the word ‘danger’ had reminded him he’d taken his eyes off his cat for a little too long. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, even while looking horrified at her antics.

Laughing, Credence watched her rolling from side to side on his knitted afghan, with Kowalski hopping back and forth as if trying to keep up with the location of her paws; it looked as if she had him on strings, and he was enjoying every moment of it. Credence figured Queenie was probably always on her best behaviour at Mr Graves’ place. He wondered what his place would be like… very tidy and clean, and only the best of everything, most likely. He looked around his own place a little worriedly. He and Kowalski would have to be on their best behaviour too. At least… _he_ would; Kowalski would have to be a saint to have any hope to maybe, one day, be forgiven for past sins.

Mr Graves was looking at him again in a funny way, apparently taking a moment out of being horrified at Queenie’s slumming. Or, most likely, he was getting impatient to get out of Credence’s place. In all honesty, Credence liked the idea himself… the prospect of being warm for a week was _really_ nice. Even nicer was the thought of being warm with Mr Graves, or… at his place, anyway.

“I’ll go and pack a few things, you’re probably anxious to get going,” Credence said and hurried off to his bedroom without waiting for an answer, before another blush came on.

His single battered suitcase wasn’t overly big, but then he didn’t have much to put into it. He was constantly washing his stuff, of which there was actually just about enough to last him a week. He threw everything into the case, taking a little more care with his one decent white shirt, then added a zip bag with bathroom essentials and snapped the case shut.

He grabbed a shoulder bag for the few cat toys he’d been able to get for Kowalski, and his bowls and tins of food, and walked back out into the living area with the words, ‘almost ready’, on his lips. Then he stopped in his tracks and stared.

Mr Graves was sitting on the edge of his sofa, next to the corner of the afghan he’d pushed aside, and was alternating between petting Queenie’s head and catching her front paws in midair, while Kowalski watched him curiously. He had clearly exhausted himself chasing her hind paws, and was now lying with his own paws carefully framing Queenie’s fluffy tail, trying to beat Mr Graves in a staring contest. At that moment, there was no way to tell who was winning, but the fact that Kowalski was allowed to keep hold of her tail had to be a good sign.

Credence giggled, then quickly slapped his hand over his mouth.

Mr Graves and Kowalski both looked up at him as if embarrassed about being caught getting along, if grudgingly.

“I just need to get Kowalski’s things,” Credence said, grinning. “There’s not a lot, don’t worry. We won’t clutter your place up.” He walked around picking up the toy mouse, and the squeaky ball, and the old striped sock he’d stuffed and tied into a fish shape--Kowalski loved that one, and dropped them in his bag, then went for the tinned cat food in the kitchen cupboard.

“Don’t bother about bringing those along,” Mr Graves said. He’d come over to the kitchen and was watching him. “I’m always well stocked up on cat food.”

Credence paused with a tin in his hand. “Are you sure? There’s no need--”

“Please,” the man said, looking a little awkward. “I really don’t mind at all. You’ll be my guest, and so will your cat.”

“Okay.” Credence smiled at him and put the tins back. “Thanks. You’re very kind, Mr Graves.”

That’s when it happened. The man actually returned his smile, and his whole face seemed to light up with the crumbling of his serious expression.

Credence figured if he should end up blushing again faced with _that_, no one could blame him a bit. Unfortunately, he did worse than blush. He talked. “You should smile more, Mr Graves, you have a _really_ nice smile.”

Mr Graves, smile gone, looked at him then as if Credence had slapped him.

“Sorry! I… forget I said that. I mean… oh god, you might smile all day long, usually, for all I know. When you’re not visiting people whose cats have misbehaved, that is. I shouldn’t--”

“Credence, it’s okay. Thank you,” he simply said. His smile made a return appearance, at a lower wattage this time, but looking kind of fragile and downright sweet.

Credence had no idea what to do with himself. He muttered a quick, “You’re welcome”, and went to pick up Kowalski, working out the best way to carry his suitcase, his bag, and his cat.

Mr Graves strode past him and carefully arranged Queenie on his left arm and shoulder, then picked up Credence’s suitcase. “Do you have a basket or something for your cat?” he asked softly.

Credence shook his head. “No basket.” He plucked Kowalski off the sofa, with the Afghan wrapped around him. “This is his favourite thing in the world though. Aside from Queenie.” He couldn’t keep from grinning at Mr Graves’ expression.

He was looking at Kowalski wrapped up in the blanket--dark head, two paws, and tongue poking out, looking undeniably excited to be going on an adventure. “Of course it is,” he said with a snort of amusement. “Well then, let’s go. It’s not a long way to my car.”

***

Graves expected to feel a certain satisfaction at the way Credence's (or anyone's) eyes widened when they took in the sight of his car for the first time. Not that he was trying to impress him, but a relatively brand new Mercedes isn't something a student like Credence generally rides in.

He expected to feel a certain way, but didn't. Rather, he was almost a touch self-conscious, suddenly seeing the opulence of the life he takes for granted every day as being something, well… he wouldn't go so far as to call it _garish_. But certainly he didn't want the boy thinking that he was somehow impressed with himself. 

Instead of outside on the curb, it was once they were _in_ the car that the satisfaction came, and of all things it was the sight that Credence presented for him, rather than the other way around. Bundled up in the passenger seat (safely buckled in, Graves had seen to that), he held Kowalski still wrapped in that gaudy blanket, and the both of them peered around themselves with nearly matching expressions of curiosity. For a moment, Graves almost expected to see Credence sniff delicately at the air in exactly the same way his cat did, and the sudden (uncharacteristically whimsical) thought had him hiding a quick smirk. 

He had a sense of something like accomplishment, with Credence and his cat in the car--as though things were finally getting seen to, being put to rights. "All right, let's head home," he said, and if his particular phrasing didn't strike him as terribly meaningful, it's fair to say he had a lot to distract him at the time.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride up in the elevator of Mr Graves’ apartment building felt endless and, once they stepped out of it, it became clear why.

“You live on the top floor?” Credence asked incredulously.

Mr Graves looked almost a little sheepish. “Yes, the penthouse.”

He balanced Queenie and dealt with his burglar alarm. Then he carefully set her down, once it was okay for her to walk inside. She did so after a glance and a proud meow back over her shoulder, as if to say, _Come and let me show you my place._

Credence slipped off his shoes right inside the door, as did Mr Graves with a vaguely appreciative look at him, presumably because he hadn’t needed to be asked. He decided to keep hold of Kowalski until he was told he was allowed to let him loose. He wasn’t sure that would ever happen, once he’d gone in as far as the front hall and the living area. In fact, he wasn’t sure _he_ should be allowed loose here.

“Your place is amazing, Mr Graves!” he said, awed.

Mr Graves’ mouth twitched up in a small, pleased smile. “Thanks, Credence. It’s home.”

The strange thing was… it _felt_ like a home. Despite being vast and roomy, with huge windows looking out over who knew how much of the city, and everything very tasteful and expensive, it was… cosy. There were long, gold-coloured drapes, falling right down to the warm hardwood floor; rugs and carpets in gold, cream, deep blues and reds; furniture upholstered in deep brown leather and velour; a wide fireplace below a large wall mirror; and potted plants everywhere--one palm did, in fact, provide the central trunk of a tall, cream-coloured scratching post.

Credence suppressed a snicker at the image of Queenie reclining on the top tier as though it was her own private beach. Then it occurred to him that Kowalski didn’t have a scratching post, and he was really going to have to look into making him one.

“Credence?” Mr Graves was frowning at him.

“Oh, sorry, I just got a bit lost in thought.” Credence grinned. “I was just admiring Queenie’s scratching post. I bet she loves it.”

“Uh… yes. Yes, she does.” Mr Graves looked a little embarrassed. “I might have got a bit carried away there.” He went back to the door to get Credence’s suitcase. “Let me show you the guest room. You can put your things away.”

“Okay.” Credence followed him down the hall, where Mr Graves veered off into a room to the right. He followed him inside and gasped. “Wow. Are you sure this isn’t the main bedroom?”

Blinking, Mr Graves hastened to tell him, “Definitely not. My bedroom is next to this one.” He averted his eyes quickly and lifted the suitcase onto a broad chest along the wall.

Credence walked across the room… and it was an actual walk here, not an awkward climb over a creaky bed… and looked out the window at a view every bit as stunning as the one from the living room. Then he turned and faced Mr Graves with a little smile, taking in the bed. It was easily twice the size of his own, and the colours were a match to the main living area. There was no fireplace in this room, but the temperature was perfectly comfortable.

The bed looked incredibly inviting, and Kowalski seemed to agree, straining in his arms to get down and make himself comfortable there.

“The bathroom is right across the hall, let me show you--” Mr Graves started for the door.

“Oh no!” Credence said, eyes widening in horror. He stared down at Kowalski.

Kowalski stared back at him. “Mew?”

“What’s the matter?” Mr Graves asked.

“Oh god, I’m such an idiot! Mr Graves, I’m going to have to go back. I’ll take the subway.” He sighed, cuddling Kowalski close. “Do you have something I can borrow to carry Kowalski safely around in? Or… could I leave him in this room? That would be so much better. I’ll hurry, I promise.”

Mr Graves walked up to him. “Credence, what’s wrong? If you’ve forgotten something important, I’ll drive you back, but--”

“His litter box! I forgot his litter box, of all things.” Credence cringed. “I’m so sorry.”

At the prospect of a visiting cat without a litter box, Mr Graves evenly tanned skin visibly paled. “Oh dear.” He looked at Kowalski as if he thought he really should have reminded Credence, then he looked at Credence. “All right, here’s what we’ll do. There’s a pet store just a couple of blocks away. I’ll go and get a litter box, while you get settled in.”

“Oh, but Mr Graves, no, I should--”

Shaking his head, Mr Graves said. “It’s just a litter box, Credence, my… um, treat. I’ll consider it an investment in clean carpets.”

Credence moaned. “I feel so stupid. You really are too nice. Is there a balcony? Just, you know, in case he needs to go while you’re out.”

“There’s a small conservatory with vents. I’ve had part of the terrace safely closed off for Queenie, so she gets to be ‘outside’ but won’t be tempted to jump up on a ledge.” He looked horrified for a moment at the mere idea, for which Credence didn’t blame him. “However…” He considered for a moment. “Come with me.”

Credence followed him back out into the hallway, and into a small recessed storeroom with an open door. On the floor sat a litter box.

Mr Graves gave Kowalski a stern look. “Kowalski, if you need to… go and… relieve yourself before I’m back, you will go here. Do you hear?”

Credence bit his lip, while Kowalski looked at Mr Graves with his head tilted. “Meow?”

Mr Graves looked a little desperate. “Good grief. Well… all right, pay attention.”

He crouched down and picked up a small wooden rake similar to something Credence had once seen in a store window; it took him a moment to remember it had been part of a decorative miniature zen garden, and he fought to keep from laughing out loud. Mr Graves moved the mini rake back and forth across the meticulously clean litter--presumably, to indicate a scratching of paws, not that he expected Kowalski to use the rake to cover up his business; Credence wouldn’t have wanted to bet, however.

Kowalski watched Mr Graves with great interest and not a little confusion.

“I’ll keep a close eye on him, sir, I promise,” Credence assured Mr Graves, doing his best to suppress his amusement. Remembering this was all his fault definitely helped.

Mr Graves left the rake on the edge of the box and rose. “Yes, that would probably be best.” He pointed to the ceiling. “I’ve had an extractor fan installed. The switch is outside the doorway.”

Credence blinked. “Okay.” He followed him out into the living area, and Mr Graves indicated the large open plan kitchen. 

“The fridge is fully stocked. Help yourself to anything you like. Cat food is in the cupboard to the right of the sink, and you can set up your cat’s bowls next to Queenie’s on the mat over there.”

“Thank you, Mr Graves.” Credence smiled. “We’ll be fine.” He looked across the living area to where Queenie was doing stretches at the base of her scratching post. Kowalski purred and leapt from Credence’s hold before he could stop him. “Kowalski, no!”

Mr Graves looked at him and said, looking a little uncomfortable, “Credence, it’s fine. You can’t hold onto him for a week.”

Credence nodded. “He’ll behave himself,” he said, hoping sincerely that would turn out to be true.

“I’m sure,” said Mr Graves, looking anything but sure. “Well, I’ll be going then. I shouldn’t be long. Make yourself at home, Credence.”

“Thanks.” Credence beamed at him, hoping to get one of those sweet, brittle smiles in return, and he did.

Once Mr Graves had closed the front door behind himself, Credence dropped the afghan on the floor beside the scratching post, where Kowalski had joined Queenie for some exercise. Then he filled up the water bowl and placed it on the mat indicated. There was still some food in Queenie’s bowl, so he decided to wait until Mr Graves’ return before feeding Kowalski, in case he wanted her bowl topped up too.

That’s when he realised something… Mr Graves had eaten none of the pizza. A pizza for which he’d paid the ridiculous sum of $50!

Credence stood up, frowning. Did Mr Graves not like pizza, or had he not wanted to eat food he felt Credence couldn’t really spare? He didn’t know, but he _did_ know Mr Graves would be hungry on his return from a trip he was making on account of Credence’s forgetfulness. He determined to make it up to him.

A little hesitantly, he opened kitchen cupboards and the fridge to assess available ingredients, and came to the conclusion that his host had not been joking about being well stocked. He smiled to himself and got to work.

Once he’d switched on the wall oven--which was fancier than anything he worked with at the coffee shop--he retrieved filo pastry from the refrigerator and got to work chopping onions and garlic. He sautéed both while chopping fresh spinach. He found ricotta and feta cheese and spiced them appropriately, then cut and filled the pastry sheets. It wasn’t long before he had Spanakopita parcels baking in the oven, their comforting smell filling the kitchen area.

Hoping fervently that Mr Graves wouldn’t turn out to hate Greek food, he cleaned up the kitchen, switched on a couple of the smaller lights around the living area, turned off the ceiling light for a nicer atmosphere, and settled on the floor beside the afghan, wondering about the surprising turn his day had taken.

When he’d woken up that morning with Kowalski curled into his side, both of them freezing and snuggling for warmth, the very last place he’d expected to find himself by evening was an elegant, yet cosy, apartment belonging to an extremely handsome and grumpy-sweet gentleman who was annoyed with his cat. Credence smiled to himself, feeling a little shiver of completely inappropriate happiness.

***

He started in the litter box aisle and it all kind of followed from there. The box itself was a standard enough item (he didn't go in for all that gimmicky technology--it was a _litter box_). But once he'd selected a size and colour that satisfied him and his understanding of whatever 'decor' Credence's brownstone could be said to have, it occurred to him that much more was needed beyond a single cat box. 

If that cat was going to be staying in his penthouse for at least a week, he certainly wasn't going to let the little sneak be tempted to claw up all his designer furnishings, nor would Queenie be all that impressed to have him hogging her stuff. From what he'd seen, Kowalski had nothing much beyond a couple of basic toys most likely acquired from the local drugstore, along with that _hideous_ afghan. Credence had claimed the cat loved the blanket more than anything, but if he had no other option, how could anyone be sure? For all he knew, Queenie may have chosen a cat of far more exclusive taste as the father of her litter, and suddenly Graves felt determined to prove it (if not on Kowalski's behalf, then on Queenie's, of course). 

First on his mental list was a scratching post, but once he'd seen the simpler options, an image of Queenie's elaborate tree house came to mind and gave him pause. He wouldn't have some interloper acting boorish with Queenie out of envy, and so, the deluxe scratching post and multi-tiered climbing tower was (very awkwardly) added to the cart. 

Next, the obvious: a proper cat bed. He'd seen the way Kowalski had been eyeing up the bed in Credence's room, and no doubt he was quite used to sleeping with the boy and leaving his shaggy black fur all over the sheets. Well, 500 thread count Egyptian cotton might be fine for Credence (and his delicate, creamy pale skin), but the cat was going to have to be satisfied with the simple Genuine Sheepskin Luxury Pet Bed. 

Still, on the subject of beds (one which Graves was finding it imperative he stop associating with Credence, _this_ instant), something needed to be done about that god awful granny square blanket. A selection of soft, plush throws presented itself before him at the end of the bedding aisle; in the end, he chose one in a deep gold to match the cat's amber eyes (and it complimented the sheepskin just subtly enough to call it an accident). 

For a long moment, he considered a collar and tag, knowing that the pet shop engraved them right there in the store. In the end, he decided that it was too personal an item and just presumptuous enough of him to risk offending. Better simply to have a gentle conversation about it with Credence, to remind him of the safety and security that could be afforded by something so often overlooked in the case of cats. 

At the checkout he realised how much he'd actually gathered up, having thrown in a last minute assortment of higher quality playthings and a couple of catnip treats for good measure. The salesperson at the register managed to fit the litter box, bed, blanket and toys into a couple of large shopping bags he could most likely manage to sling over one arm, while the climbing post would have to be carried underneath the other. No matter--once he'd made it home, the doorman would be more than happy to help him up to the penthouse with all his goods. 

"New cat?" The gangly teen at the register was beaming, ready to congratulate him. The kid had it wrong, and yet Graves happily accepted the well-wishes, somehow feeling as if there were a whole host of new cats in his home to care for, regardless of the fact that at least five of them had yet to introduce themselves. 

A short drive home (longer than he'd have liked, with the evening traffic), and a quick negotiation with the doorman later, he was finally that much closer to settling into his place and seeing what this last, uncertain week had in store for him. 

He was mid-sentence instructing the doorman with his things, pulling the door open one-handed and shoving his way through with the cat post in his arms like some unwieldy dance partner--when he stopped. The doorman hovered uncertainly behind him: "Sir? Everything all right?" 

The usual chorus of excited mews greeted him, as expected, but the smell that accompanied it… if it wasn't the penthouse suite, the _only_ penthouse suite… he might've wondered if he'd come through the wrong door.

***

Credence was just adding a final touch to the salad bowl… a sprinkling of chopped fresh chives, when he heard the front door open. He quickly carried the bowl to the dining table, where he’d set a place for Mr Graves, then looked up with a smile as his host came into view. He blinked when he saw he was being followed by a doorman; both of them were carrying cat supplies, to his great surprise.

The doorman set down a couple of bags, which were instantly subjected to feline examination, and peered at Credence past Graves’ shoulder. “If that’s all, Mr Graves, I’ll be going.” He smirked at Graves. “Enjoy your dinner date.” 

Mr Graves’ mouth dropped open, no doubt to correct the misconception, but the man was already gone, so he looked at Credence, apparently speechless.

Credence felt himself blushing. “Hello, Mr Graves.”

“Hello, Credence… did you… did you _cook_?”

Credence smiled. “Kind of, yes. I hope you don’t mind. I remembered you never ate any of the pizza, so I made you dinner.”

“It smells wonderful,” Mr Graves said, still staring at him. “I’ve never come home to the smell of dinner.”

“Oh.” Credence’s blush deepened, he was sure of it. “I suppose you eat at restaurants a lot, although your kitchen is really well stocked.”

Mr Graves came closer and examined the place setting, saying almost absently, “As well as a cleaner, I have a cook who comes in several times a week and prepares a few meals ready to heat up.”

“That explains the covered dishes in the fridge,” Credence said. He glanced over his shoulder towards the oven timer. “The Spanakopita is going to be ready in six minutes.”

Graves paused in his examination of the carefully arranged napkin, looking as if he might hug him. “I love Greek food.”

Credence’s smile nearly split his face. “My boss at the coffee shop is originally Polish… obviously.” He glanced at Kowalski, who was playing tug o’ war with Queenie over some kind of squeaky toy. “I’m learning to make all kinds of Continental European dishes. I’d love to cook for you, Mr Graves. This week, I mean, while I’m staying here. You could give your cook the week off. If you like my cooking, obviously, which you haven’t tried yet.” He knew he was babbling, but it was just so nice to know he’d done something right.

Mr Graves’ face lit up. “I would love that, Credence.”

Credence suddenly remembered something he really should have considered when he’d agreed to stay here for the week. “I… I’ll be at work in the afternoons, though. What time do you get home? I can’t believe I never even thought about that! I’m in a semester break, but what am I going to do about my job this week? I don’t want to get fired, but I know you want me here to keep an eye on Queenie.”

Mr Graves considered this. “Let me arrange that for you. I’ll stop by your workplace in the morning and have a chat to your boss.” He rubbed his hands. “Now, I think we’d better set up your cat’s litter box. Should be just enough time before we eat.”

“We? But I had pizza.” Credence’s mind was still reeling from how easy it apparently was for Mr Graves to just arrange something like a week off for him; easy enough, in fact, that it didn’t even occur to him Credence’s boss might say ‘no’. He likely wouldn’t; Jacob Kowalski had as easygoing a personality as his feline namesake, but still… Mr Graves didn’t know that. Apparently, he just decided how something was to be done and did it; Credence wondered whether the so far perfect temperature in the room had suddenly been turned up somehow.

Frowning, Mr Graves said, “You didn’t eat all that pizza, Credence, I ended up putting the rest of it into your fridge, while you were packing. Besides… I’d enjoy my meal a lot more if you joined me.”

“You would?” Credence grinned. He didn’t even care about the state his pizza would be in by the end of the week.

“Yes, I would. I have a very nice wine that will complement the meal quite well.”

As they were talking, they’d made their way to Queenie’s little custom bathroom, where Mr Graves poured extra fine kitty litter into the box he’d brought home. He placed it beside Queenie’s litter box with a frown. “I hope they won’t find this arrangement too odd.”

Credence couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud, then immediately felt bad for it. “I’m sorry, Mr Graves, but… that’s so cute.” Growing flustered, he quickly said, “I don’t think Queenie will mind, not with all those nice new toys you brought back to make it up to her.”

Mr Graves looked at him curiously, standing rather close; there was no way around it, the room was tiny. “Queenie probably has more toys than any other cat in the state of New York.”

Credence grinned and bit his lip to keep from saying how unsurprised he was to hear that.

“Those toys aren’t for her. They’re for you… your cat, I mean. Kowalski.” Scratching at the side of his neck, Mr Graves went silent.

“For Kowalski?” Credence breathed. “But… why?”

Graves slipped from the small room, avoiding his eyes, and Credence followed him to the living room, where the two cats had decided to go ahead and thoroughly unpack the purchases already. It was only then that Credence fully took in there weren’t simply cat toys, but a lovely plush pet bed too, and a second massive scratching post… all for his scruffy little munchkin. A lump formed in his throat.

“Oh no. No, no, no…” Graves crouched down and picked up Queenie, carefully disentangling her claws from the golden throw blanket. “That’s for our guest.” He carefully spread out the blanket and patted it, looking at Kowalski with a challenge in his eyes. “Look, Kowalski, isn’t this nice and soft?” (And luxurious?) 

“Mew?” Kowalski approached him cautiously, walked back and forth across the throw a few times, then leapt playfully at Graves’ patting hand, before trotting off and settling down on the dreaded afghan below Queenie’s treehouse.

Graves stared at him with the look of a man whose last hopes had been dashed.

Credence was softly giggling to himself. He felt bad for Mr Graves, though. He knelt down beside him and picked up the throw. “It really is lovely and soft. It even matches Kowalski’s eyes.” He smiled at the non-committal noise Graves made at that. “Thank you, Mr Graves, for being so nice to us. You don’t have to be!” He met the warm brown eyes, which he liked even better close up.

Graves cleared his throat. “They’re just a few welcome gifts, Credence. Besides, if you’re going to cook for me this week, it’s the least I can do.”

Credence was about to point out that getting to sleep in a comfortable bed, to spend the day feeling warm, and to anticipate Mr Graves’ company in the evening, all more than made up for a bit of cooking, but he decided not to, in case he should seem ungrateful for the gifts. And he certainly wasn’t. “Thank you,” he just said, very softly, squeezing Mr Graves’ forearm.

The oven timer went off then, giving Credence the opportunity to escape and hide his blushing face as he went in search of potholders.


	4. Chapter 4

“Careful now, you don’t want to burn yourself or find it’s too heavy.” 

Graves couldn’t help himself, hovering at the side of the oven and ready to step in if anything should go amiss. Once Credence pulled open the oven door, and the smell filled the room at its fullest power, he couldn’t help himself again: he sighed with pleasure. “That smells delicious, Credence.” 

The boy glanced up at him, face flushed in the sudden heat before the oven door, and smiled just as warmly. “Thank you, Mr Graves. I hope you like it.” 

Graves stepped further into the kitchen as Credence carefully pulled the tray from out of the heat. He indicated the kitchen island and gently ushered the boy towards it. “Just set it down here to cool for a moment, and I’ll help you get it onto a serving tray.” 

Just then he remembered what was missing. “One moment,” he said, “I’ll get something appropriate from out of the wine cellar.” 

“You have a wine cellar?” He could hear Credence asking as he made his way down the hall towards it. 

“Yes,” he called back. “It’s more of a closet, really. I think a nice Chardonnay would go well with something light like Spanakopita, what do you think?”

There was a considerable pause before Credence finally answered, “I think I’m going to have to trust your judgement. I’ve got a bit to learn when it comes to fine wine.” 

When he returned with the bottle in hand, Credence was still standing next to the island exactly where he’d left him, his face still slightly rosy. The soft light from the hanging lamp above shone down on him, drawing out warm chestnut notes in his long dark hair, so much like his cat’s fur, Graves realised. He imagined it would be just as silky to the touch, and the fine strands would likely tease and tickle against his face if he were close enough… Graves blinked and cleared his throat. “Well, let’s get this on the table, then.”

He insisted on carrying the tray over to the dining table, (“You’re not my hired help, Credence, you’re a _guest_”), and poured the wine for them both after pulling out Credence’s chair for him. It was difficult not to recall the doorman’s mistake in calling it his ‘dinner date,’ with the boy across from him and smiling so gently at every simple thing he said. In fact, come to think of it--Graves couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a genuine dinner date, and he certainly couldn’t remember having had one quite as agreeable. Upon the first bite of the meal in question, he closed his eyes and quietly amended his own thoughts. This wasn’t simply _agreeable_, this was perfect. As soon as he’d finished that initial bite, he made sure to tell Credence exactly that, smiling at the way the praise made the boy flush anew. “I’m definitely not going to miss my cook this week,” he said. “In fact, I’m starting to think he might be a little over-paid.” 

“Oh no, Mr Graves, please don’t lower his wages on account of this!” Credence rushed to beg him. “I’d feel awful if I caused something like that.” 

Graves simply waved his concerns away with a smile (such a sweet little thing the boy was). “I wouldn’t, Credence, don’t worry. I’m not the sort to do something like that.” The way Credence smiled back to hear it, with that warm glimmer in his eyes, made Graves feel almost heroic for such a small declaration of basic decency. It had him wondering about the boy who would be spending a week in his home and what sort of people he was used to being around.

“You say you brought Kowalski home from a box behind your place of employment?” he suddenly asked. He was curious to know what kind of person _does_ a thing like that, just brings a strange animal under his roof with no pedigree and likely no idea what came next.

“Yeah…” Credence said, tucking a dark curl behind his ear. “I think it was probably a whole litter at one point, but once I found him, he was the only one left. He was a bit sickly and I think he must have been the runt of the litter.”

Graves rested his chin against his hand for a moment and pondered Credence until the boy ducked his head a bit bashfully. “And yet you still brought him home with you. Without any knowing if he was diseased, or if he was even going to make it.”

Credence simply nodded, a faraway look in his eye as he seemed to remember those early days with Kowalski. “I bottle fed him for a while, actually, and read up on the internet about what to do. I even had him sleep in a little box next to an old clock wrapped in flannel because I’d heard it mimics their mother’s heartbeat.” He smiled then, a little wistfully. “But after a few weeks, I’d saved up enough to have him checked out at the vet and given his shots, and he turned out great.”

He turned in his seat then, seeking out the little wisp of black fur--currently darting playfully in and out of a small hollow he’d made in the folds of the afghan as Queenie batted her paws at each sudden appearance of his twitching ears. “They really like each other, don’t they?” he asked.

It took Graves a moment to make sure his voice would obey him before he answered softly, “Yes, they really seem to.”

When Credence turned his face back to him, he had to ask. “If it was so much of an ordeal at the beginning, not to mention costly… why did you do it? Why bring him home with you?”

This time Credence met his gaze squarely, something not quite _defiant_ there, but certainly something impassioned. “Because he was on his own and I thought he deserved a fighting chance,” he said.

Graves took a long sip of his wine, afraid to look too deeply at how that determined gaze seemed to send a minor flock of butterflies into flight through his (far less empty) stomach. There was much, much more to this strange and lonely boy than he’d previously suspected, he knew--and definitely more to that unexpectedly steady look. He was beginning to suspect he’d been selling Credence woefully short, all this time he’d seen him and his scruffy cat from the pampered safety of his Greenwich Village balcony.

“Credence,” he began, “I… almost bought a collar and tag for Kowalski today, but thought better of it since it’s really your decision to make.” The boy’s eyes widened a little at the confession of yet _another_ seemingly extravagant gift, even if it was one that had remained in the realm of sentiment only. “And it _is_ your decision,” he went on, “but I hope it’s one you’ll make, considering the lengths you went to on Kowalski’s behalf. I’d… well, I’d hate to see you lose him.”

***

Credence swallowed hard. “Lose him?”

Graves nodded. “I always see him running around the neighbourhood and, aside from the dangers of traffic, he might get lost or picked up by animal welfare. If he doesn’t have a tag and collar, they’d think he’s a stray. They’d never know he’s yours.”

Credence looked at Kowalski and, although he was saddened by the thought, he had to be honest. “But he’s not mine. I just look after him.”

Graves seemed confused by this. “You love him very much, don’t you?” he asked, his voice sounding strange.

Credence met his eyes. “I do. I’m not sure what I’d do--” He took a deep breath. “He’s really all I have,” he confessed, “but I don’t want to keep him locked up or to feel like I own him. He should be allowed to be free.”

“Credence… Queenie is all I have, too. All I really care about, that is.” Mr Graves looked sad and also a little sheepish. “I think it’s admirable that you want him to have his freedom, but he’s in so much danger out in the streets of a city like this. What if he ended up in an animal shelter, or with someone like the people who abandoned him in the first place? Even--” He seemed to make an effort to stop himself from adding more.

Credence stared at him, his heart pounding. “I hadn’t thought of that!” He felt suddenly nervous about all the times Kowalski had disappeared for hours or even a day or two at a time, and his stomach churned at the idea he might never come back some day. His eyes filled with tears, he could feel it, and a couple spilled over. “You’re right, Mr Graves! I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

Graves looked distraught, but even so, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “I was sure you wouldn’t. We’ll get him a collar and tag together, how does that sound? You can choose something you think he’ll like.”

Credence nodded eagerly. “Thank you.” He sniffed and rummaged around his jeans pocket but, as usual, found no tissue.

“Here.” Mr Graves leaned forward, a cream-coloured, monogrammed handkerchief in his grasp. Credence didn’t dare breathe when he dabbed gently at his cheeks and the skin below his eyes, just grazing his lower lashes, and his nervous blinking released a few more tears. “I’m so sorry I’ve upset you, Credence,” Mr Graves said very quietly.

“Please don’t be, Mr Graves. You were right to warn me, and I should have thought about that. I just wanted him to be free to come and go.” When Mr Graves lowered his hand, he turned his head to glance over to the two cats playing happily and without a care in the world. “I felt a little sad for Queenie, because she doesn’t get to run around outside all the time, but I think I understand now…” 

“What do you understand, Credence?” Mr Graves asked softly.

Credence met his eyes, feeling suddenly a little shy. Mr Graves now seemed so different to Mr Graves only a few hours ago. “How lucky she is to be so loved and protected.” 

Mr Graves looked at him for a long moment, with yet another new expression, before he finally spoke. “Thank you, but I think I’m lucky to have her.” He sounded a little choked.

“I think you’re both lucky, Mr Graves.” Credence smiled, then quickly looked away. “The pastry is getting cold though.”

With a soft chuckle, Mr Graves tucked his tear-stained handkerchief away and returned to his plate of food. “That will never do.” He added, a moment later, “especially as it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in a _very_ long while.”

Credence blushed so furiously, he didn’t even dare to look at the man, he just stared intently down at his plate with a big smile while chasing down a cucumber slice.

“How are you enjoying the wine?” Mr Graves asked after a few bites.

“It’s nice, but I think it’s making me a little dizzy. I’m not used to it,” Credence admitted. 

Mr Graves frowned. “I am sorry. We’d better save the rest for another evening then.”

Credence beamed at that. It sounded nice. Better even than the thought put into his head by that doorman earlier. This _was_ better than a date; he would get to spend all week with Mr Graves. While he was home, anyway. “Where do you work, Mr Graves?” he asked, hoping it wasn’t too personal or too out of the blue.

“I’m the senior partner of a law firm in the Woolworth building, on Broadway.”

Credence set down his fork. “Oh, but then Kowalski’s is really out of your way.”

Mr Graves shook his head. “Not that far out of my way. Don’t worry, Credence, I’m the one inconveniencing you this week. The least I can do is get you a week off.” He reached for the stem of his glass, pausing with a thoughtful expression. “I hope you won’t get bored here during the day. I have a lot of books, and a laptop you can use, and of course you’re welcome to watch whatever you want. In fact… we could watch a movie after dinner? You choose.”

Surprised, Credence blinked at him, and saw a faint tinge of pink on Mr Graves’ cheeks. “I’d like that.” He smiled. “Oh, there’s something I’d love to watch! I’ve heard all about it, but it’s on Netflix, so… um, can we watch _The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina_?”

Mr Graves’ expression said that was the last thing he’d expected to hear, but he nodded, “Of course we can, Credence.” He finally took that sip of wine, then asked, “Why that?”

“It’s about magic!” Credence was a bit embarrassed; he probably sounded like an excited kid, but he loved the whole idea of witchcraft. “And the main character has a black cat,” he added, feeling he should put forth another reason. He looked across the room at Kowalski, who was trying to get up to the same tier of the scratching post Queenie was currently occupying. If he managed it, it would be a tight squeeze, but most likely, neither one of them would mind.

Credence looked at Mr Graves, who was watching him as if he was reading his mind, smiling a little. “Well, in that case, that’s what we’re going to watch.”

***

Graves wanted to pay attention to the show, he really did. But with Credence curled up on the couch next to him, wrapped in the gold blanket he’d meant for Kowalski, it was… difficult to concentrate. 

When the boy had joined him with the plush throw in his hands, blushing sweetly and saying, “It’s so lovely, someone should be making use of it,” Graves had found it was nearly impossible to mind how the cat still preferred the hideous afghan, if this was the result. It wasn’t simply the way the colour subtly accented the warm notes in Credence’s eyes, or the brush of the fabric (chinchilla soft) against the back of his hand once or twice as the boy got comfortable. In a rare moment of unguarded self-awareness, Graves realised there was a pleasure in the mere fact of seeing Credence wrapped up safe and warm in something _he’d_ provided--a feeling similar to the one he often felt with Queenie purring contentedly beside him. Only earlier that same day, Graves had felt the course of his own life somehow veering off the track, and yet… there with Credence staring raptly at the TV, while the cats attempted to occupy the _exact_ same plateau on the scratching post, all seemed exactly right in his world. 

He tried to imagine what he’d be doing with his evening if his guests weren’t there (likely cussing someone out on a late night conference call), and he found that whatever it was, he wasn’t missing it. And while he found it a chore to keep the thread of what was happening in the show, Credence for his part seemed to be enjoying it enough for the both of them. He was cuddled up with the blanket piled over his lap, feet tucked up beneath himself and eyes on the screen, faintly (and sometimes not so faintly) emoting along with the action.

"You don’t have TV at home, usually?” Graves asked during a quiet moment. “Or… on your phone or whatever?”

“No,” Credence answered with a shake of his head. “I don’t pay for any streaming services, but I’m usually too busy with work and classes to really watch much of anything.”

Graves nodded, fully able to relate to _that_ particular hurdle. “But,” Credence went on, “I didn’t grow up with TV or movies, so it’s both something I forget about entirely and find myself fascinated by when I do take the time.”

“You didn’t grow up with TV?” Graves frowned. “I thought you grew up just over in Two Bridges.”

In the soft glow of the flatscreen, he caught sight of Credence allowing himself a tiny smirk before his face shifted to something… a little more pensive. Troubled, even, if Graves had to give it a name. Suddenly, he was focussed entirely on whatever Credence would say next, sensing something hidden, and knowing, as a lawyer, how often the hidden things were also the most crucial.

“Uh, yeah….” Credence murmured under the show’s dialogue. “We were in a church, like I mentioned before, and it was… a strict religious environment. So we weren’t allowed TV and stuff like that.”

The way he said the words ‘strict religious environment’ sounded to Graves' ears like a carefully practiced phrase, one used to cover any number of odd and likely unhappy things about the way his life had been. Graves felt the words like a challenge--one to spoil the boy, indulge his small whims and do his best to make up for some of the deprivation--at least for the week they’d be sharing each other’s company, if not longer. Because now that he thought of it, Graves already felt a premature sting of loss at the thought of sending Credence, and even his cat, back to their draughty brownstone at the end of only seven days.

“I’m guessing here,” he said, “but I can imagine that a show about witches in particular must be quite an adventurous choice for you, then.”

This time Credence’s smile came out in full, with a touch of mischief to it as he nodded. Graves nudged him teasingly with one shoulder, watching him fight to keep the smile from taking over his entire face. “Hey, I went to a Catholic boarding school, I get it,” he joked, hoping the boy didn’t think he was making light of something that clearly ran far deeper than titillating TV shows and black cats.

“They sent you away?” Credence asked, turning a slightly mournful glance his way.

“Yeah, but I got to summer in the Hamptons, so it all balanced out in the end. Don’t worry about me.” He made sure to put a little extra warmth into his voice, wanting Credence to know that while his wasn’t a childhood necessarily abundant in affection, neither was it something to feel sorry over.

They fell into a gentle silence after that, one in which, sometime during the third episode, Credence’s soft breaths grew a little deeper, his head tilting further and further to the side until it was carefully rested against Graves' shoulder. Graves slowly turned his head to see that the cats had also fallen into an easy slumber, most likely long ago, leaving him the only one awake to savour the contented moment.

Remembering his earlier musing, seeing Credence standing there waiting for him beneath the warm kitchen light, hazy in the steam of a meal he’d carefully prepared… Graves lifted the hand not currently pinned by the boy’s delicate weight and slowly, barely breathing, sifted his fingers through his long hair. It was just as he’d thought: the strands slid against his skin smooth as finest silk, heavy and warm from the hidden pocket of heat against his neck. He had expected as much--what he hadn’t expected was the way such a simple thing could send his stomach trembling--the faint, clean scent of shampoo bringing a throb of interest to the sudden tightness along his inseam. He drew in a careful breath and cautiously withdrew his hand again, wondering just whether or not he’d entirely lost control of things, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

_Warm_\--that was Credence’s first thought on waking up the next morning, followed immediately by _soft_. Assuming he was still waking from a very lovely dream, he kept his eyes closed and stretched with a sigh, surprised when his hands didn’t hit the wall behind his bed as they usually did.

Once he did open his eyes, nothing looked immediately familiar, but then he remembered, and a happy smile spread over his face. He was in Mr Graves’ bed! Or rather, he corrected his wayward thoughts with a blush, in his apartment, in his _guest_ bed.

Snuggling deep into the almost impossibly soft sheets--red and cream like a strawberry puff pastry--he remembered the previous evening. Dinner, followed by time spent on the sofa, and then… he’d fallen asleep. He remembered feeling embarrassed when Mr Graves had woken him with a gentle hand on his shoulder and whispering his name in his ear. He also remembered apologising, because he had fallen against Mr Graves’ shoulder, and he remembered the reply very well too: ‘That’s _quite_ all right, Credence.’ It had been said with a smile, almost as if Mr Graves hadn’t minded his head on his shoulder at all.

Credence shivered with pleasure. He really wished he hadn’t been napping at the time; he wanted to remember what it felt like. As it was, he remembered the cool but comforting scent of Mr Graves’ cologne very well from when his host had woken him and then steered him gently towards his bedroom and wished him a good night.

A familiar purr made it into Credence’s perception then, for once actually not covered up by traffic noise; he supposed they were too high up for that. He peered over the edge of the bed to see Kowalski comfortably curled up in his new pet bed near the door; curled around Queenie, in fact. They looked like a feline yin and yang symbol. He giggled.

“Credence?” Mr Graves’ voice came from the hallway. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Mr Graves!”

“Ah. Good, I was heading into the shower. If you’ve just woken up, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Quee--” He appeared in the doorway, staring down at the pet bed.

Credence, meanwhile, stared at _him_, gulping. Mr Graves was practically fully dressed, between his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers--all of which were perfectly coordinated in a deep navy blue with silver accents--but the fact that he even wore sleepwear to bed, rather than a suit, was somehow a shockingly intimate notion to Credence.

Mr Graves closed his mouth, which had fallen open at the sight before him, and looked across at Credence, still ensconced in the bed. He took a moment before he spoke. “Good… good morning, Credence.”

“Good morning, Mr Graves.” Credence smiled a little bashfully, not at all used to handsome men standing near his bedside. “I left the door open a little, in case Kowalski needed his litter box during the night. I guess Queenie must have wandered in.”

Mr Graves snorted. “The little Casanova probably invited her.” There was none of his horror at this likelihood in his voice this morning, just a faint touch of amusement. 

In fact, Credence thought Mr Graves early in the morning sounded rather nice... low and warm and a little raspy. He didn’t manage to hold back a soft moan in time, blushing when the warm brown eyes met his, before they moved over his body outlined by the sheets. “Probably,” he agreed.

Mr Graves blinked, as if he’d forgotten what Credence was agreeing with. “Yes,” he said, then added, in a complete muddle of words, “Those colours… the bedding, I mean… they look… they’re… uh... nice colours for you.” There was a touch of horror in his expression then, and he hastened to say, “Feel free to stay in bed as long as you like. I get breakfast on my way to work, so you can make yourself something any time you like.”

Credence knew he was gawking at the man, but had Mr Graves just told him he looked good in his bed sheets? He moved his lips and tongue a few times before words came out. “Why don’t I make you breakfast while you’re in the shower, Mr Graves?”

“That’s really good of you, Credence, but I couldn’t ask you to--”

“You’re not. I’m offering.” Credence smiled. “Just tell me what you like, and I’ll have it ready and waiting for you.”

Mr Graves stared at him for a long, silent moment. He swallowed visibly. “Anything, Credence. I’ll like anything you want to… make. Coffee and toast or something, don’t go to too much trouble.” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the bathroom across the hallway. “I’ll be in there. Don’t rush. Plenty of time.”

Credence watched him vanish and heard the bathroom door snap closed behind him almost instantly. If he didn’t know better, he might almost think Mr Graves had fled from him.

***

Graves had all but fled from the boy. It wasn't his proudest moment, but, with the way he'd looked… spread out all warm and sleepy beneath the red sheets, with his dark hair rumpled and that glimpse of bare collarbone… 

If seeing him snuggled up in the gold cat blanket had done things to Graves, then seeing him (presumably, at least mostly naked) in his _bed,_ was something he needed to deal with. He turned the shower on at nearly full power, knowing the sound of the water drumming against the tiles and the whirr of the bathroom fan would more than drown out any sounds he couldn't help but make. 

Thank God he'd made it to the shower fast enough, without having Credence catch sight of the way his house robe had begun to tent just below the waist. Because the last thing, the absolute _last_ thing he wanted was for Credence to think he'd lured him here on some pretense--that he had anything in the way of 'expectations' of him. He should have known, back on the stoop in Greenwich Village: that moment when Credence had crouched at his feet, blinking up at him in sweet bewilderment. He should have known then that he wouldn't be able to handle it, and none of that was the boy's fault, nor was it his responsibility. 

And _of course_ that's what he would think of, wasn't it? With his hand wrapped around himself and a groan on his lips... just Credence, kneeling before him with his eyelashes spiking together under the shower spray, those plush red lips open and so, so willing…

It was embarrassing, really, how quickly he came, and how _hard_, to just that image alone. For a long moment, he stood with the water pounding against his back, forehead pressed to the foggy tile as his spend washed down the drain, just trying to catch his breath. How was he ever going to get through this week? 

More than anything, he felt a sort of shame. Not for pleasuring himself over thoughts of the boy (although that wasn't anything to be proud of), but rather for having pleasured himself to thoughts of a boy who, only a day before, he'd essentially judged beneath him. And god, what an absolute _diva_ he'd been about the whole thing, as well. If anything was beneath him, it was the way he'd behaved. 

Of course Credence had come with him--he had no television, no heat, and likely nothing to lose. One thing was for certain: Graves could not allow himself to entertain any silly fantasies of reciprocation. This whole thing was about the cats, and nothing more, no matter how good Credence looked in his bed, or how nice his hair smelled, or how delicious the food he cooked, or….

***

Knowing Mr Graves would no doubt already be well dressed and groomed at breakfast, Credence tried not to feel self-conscious about still being tousled and in sleep pants. He quickly pulled on a sweater that wasn’t too horrible looking and headed to the kitchen.

The coffee was no trouble at all. He could make every possible kind in his sleep by now. Keeping in mind that Mr Graves had been in such a hurry to get under the shower that he’d given him no instructions on his preferred kind of breakfast, Credence decided to ensure he’d go off to work on something hearty.

He turned on the grill and, while a couple of rashers of bacon and sliced tomato cooked under that, he poached the eggs. He toasted both white and wholegrain bread and chopped up some spring onions to sprinkle on the eggs.

He was just about done when Mr Graves appeared in the hall, sniffing at the air in a way that reminded Credence of Kowalski when he was scooping cat food into his bowl. He grinned at the comparison he definitely wouldn’t share with Mr Graves.

“I have a feeling I’m going to be very glad I’m breaking my usual breakfast-on-the-run habit.” Mr Graves came up to the table smiling, just straightening out his tie as he reached the kitchen island.

Credence thought he looked awfully flushed and guessed his shower had been too hot. “I hope so, Mr Graves,” he said.

Graves looked over the table. “What’s this? No place setting for you _again_? I refuse to eat your delicious meals and not share them, Credence.” He went for an extra plate, cup and cutlery himself, so focussed on his task that, when he turned, he nearly collided with Credence, who was balancing the bacon and tomatoes on a shallow dish.

Credence gasped, just stopping everything from sliding over the side, when Mr Graves set aside the plate and cutlery with a clatter and clutched his forearms to steady both him and the dish. “I’m sorry, Mr Graves!” Credence exclaimed.

“The fault is all mine,” Mr Graves said, sounding strangely breathless.

Credence met his eyes. The hands were warm and firm around his forearms, sliding down to his wrists over the worn cotton of his sweater. He hoped Mr Graves wouldn’t be able to tell how his pulse was racing, from both his closeness and the contact. “Thanks for… catching me like that, though.”

“I shouldn’t have got in your way, Credence,” Mr Graves said. “I think we’d better set this down.” Despite his words, he just held onto Credence’s wrists, looking rather helpless.

A mere moment before the rasher of bacon closest to the edge of the plate would have touched his fine dark purple tie, Credence saw it and righted the plate they’d both allowed to tilt too far. “Oh, I hope there’s no stain!” 

The plate was set down on the kitchen island, and Credence lifted the tie with careful fingers, holding it up and examining it closely.

Mr Graves was breathing very quickly--not with anger, Credence hoped--and smelling every bit as wonderful as he had done the evening before. His cologne was, if anything, more intense, as he’d used it only minutes ago. On his flushed skin... all warm from the shower.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Credence,” Graves said in a rushed sort of way.

“Yes, I think you’re right. I was worried I didn’t catch it in time.” Credence slowly lowered the tie again, gently flattening it down against the pristine white shirt underneath, against… Mr Graves’ chest. Which was definitely very warm. He flushed when he realised what he was doing and stood back quickly. Mr Graves would _not_ appreciate his house guest fondling him like that!

“How do you like your coffee, Mr Graves?” he asked, all in a rush, desperate to cover up his awkwardness.

“Iced,” Mr Graves breathed, looking at him strangely.

“Iced?” Credence raised his brows. “Oh, I didn’t--”

“No, no, it’s okay, sorry.” Graves brushed the back of his hand over his brow and let out a huff of laughter. “Not for breakfast, of course. I wasn’t thinking. Just black, thank you, Credence.”

Mr Graves took the second place setting and arranged everything on the dining table, while Credence carried the food around the kitchen island. He quickly slid into the same spot he’d occupied at dinner--the chair had already been pulled out for him, just as if that was now his spot--and Mr Graves poured them both coffee. 

His hands were shaking a little, and Credence hoped it wasn’t because he’d made him uncomfortable, but when their eyes met after a few bites, and Mr Graves smiled at him and complimented him lavishly on the breakfast, he breathed a sigh of relief and returned the smile warmly.

***

Well now, Graves just didn't know whether he was coming or going anymore. He'd nearly run from Credence to get to the shower, only to linger fondly over the breakfast table, sharing dopey smiles and chatting as if he had all the time in the world. When he’d checked his watch, realising he was going to need to hurry if he wanted to make it to Kowalski's before work, he was back to rushing again. 

Credence was sweet as always, apologising profusely as though it was all his fault Graves had found himself in a hurry, despite the fact that he'd just served him an exceedingly pleasant breakfast. “It’s absolutely nothing you need to apologise for,” he’d jumped just as quickly to reassure, “I spent too long in the shower, that’s all.” If the admission had made him blush, he only hoped Credence was innocent enough to assume it was all due to his sudden hurry and not anything deeper than that.

In the end, he’d made it to Kowalski’s with a fair bit of time to spare (which only made him wish he’d spent a little longer gazing at Credence after all). His employer, Jacob, had turned out to be a surprisingly cheerful and agreeable man--who, as it happened, seemed even more so once he’d been told about the prospect of kittens. His cheer (and his agreeableness) had increased to a beaming and ruddy-cheeked pleasure when Graves informed him he would be sending him an intern from the law firm to cover Credence’s shifts (they work for free!) and not only that, but he would happily compensate him for the inconvenience, either way. In truth, Graves was more than eager to have his current intern take a few lessons under Jacob concerning the way he liked his morning coffee, if Credence’s example at breakfast was anything to go by. He was trying (and pitifully failing) not to become too crestfallen at the thought of having things return to their usual state once the boy had gone back home. Perhaps Jacob had somehow picked up on the melancholy note in his demeanour; he’d sent Graves off to work with a large box of pastries and a grin.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Graves’ pining had apparently decided to start nearly a full week ahead of schedule. All throughout his work day, during meetings and sitting through calls, he’d caught himself staring off into the middle distance: wondering how Credence was doing, _what_ he was doing, whether or not he was thinking of Graves, too…. it went on and on until he was quite sick of himself. He’d never _missed_ anyone before, except perhaps Queenie (although he’d certainly never missed Queenie quite like _that_!) It was all more than Graves knew what to do with. 

***

Credence kept himself busy all morning. He fed the cats, then played with them for a while. Then he cleaned up the kitchen, made his bed and wondered whether he should make Mr Graves’ bed (which was located in Mr Graves’ bedroom, and he hadn’t been invited in there, he thought with a blush, so he decided not to). Next, he inspected the little conservatory and its small selection of flowers--he only really recognised the orchids, and snipped off a particularly nice yellow one for a thin vase he’d found under the kitchen sink; he placed this on the dining table as a dinner centrepiece. Then he started to worry whether he should have simply gone ahead and cut one of Mr Graves’ flowers like that.

To distract himself, and to try not to think of Mr Graves for at least a little while, he started to bake a spiced apple cake. As soon as that was inside the oven, it occurred to him that Mr Graves might not like apples, so he started on a plum cake as well.

Around midday, he started to feel bad about letting Jacob down and, even though he was sure Mr Graves had taken care of everything, he phoned him to apologise for disappearing for the week.

“Hey, it’s okay, Credence. Kittens _will_ happen,” Jacob told him wisely. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anyone cat-sitting expecting mothers day and night for a week.”

Credence grinned into his phone. “Well, it was all Kowalski’s fault.”

Jacob laughed uproariously. “We’ve got to talk about that cat of yours giving me a reputation!”

“I’m sorry.” Credence smiled, used to his boss’ amusement at the borrowing of his name. “He’s doing his best to make up for it now and not annoy Mr Graves any more than he already has. We’re both on our best behaviour.”

Jacob was silent for a long moment. “That Mr Graves of yours didn’t seem all that annoyed with you. If you ask me... I think if I’d given him any trouble about stealing you away for the week, he’d have gone ahead and bought my shop right out from under me.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s see, he’s sweet-talked me, he’s compensating me, _and_ he’s sending me replacement staff--not that anyone can replace you and, if I’m really unlucky, he’s going to not even want to hand you back. Just guessing at that last one though. I expect you to put your foot down and demand to come back to work.”

Credence glanced up at his reflection in the mirrored wardrobe of the guest room, and yes, he was as flustered as he felt. “Jacob, he doesn’t need me beyond this week. Once the kittens are born, I… he won’t want me around. There’ll be no reason.” His eyes, and his mood, lowered at the thought that yes, this was definitely going to be true. A week… six days now… was all he had with Mr Graves.

“If you say so, kiddo.” Jacob chuckled. “But you didn’t see the way he drooped when he talked about letting you go back to your place again.”

Pushing down a spark of foolish joy at that, Credence quickly said, “That’s just because he’s seen my place, Jacob.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

Credence remembered another reason he’d phoned his boss. “Jacob, I can’t remember, was it allspice or cardamom you put in the plum cake?”

“Cardamom.” Jacob laughed. “Wait… you’re _baking_ for him?”

“Yes,” Credence said, a little defensively. “It’s the least I can do!”

There was a thoughtful hum at the other end. “You’ve got it pretty bad too, huh?”

Thinking it was time he got back to the kitchen, Credence decided to pretend he hadn’t even heard that question. “I’d better let you get back to work,” he said lightly.

“That’s true enough. Your stand-in is all thumbs, but I’ll get him trained up soon enough.” Jacob laughed. “As for you, kiddo… you have a nice time with your cat family.”

It took Credence a good ten minutes to stop blushing at Jacob’s insinuations that Mr Graves might not be eager to be rid of him again. _He_ was certainly doing his best not to think beyond six days, but there was no way that Mr Graves… no, impossible.

The apple cake was cooling, and the plum cake went into the oven, and Credence made himself a simple cheese sandwich and checked on the cats--Queenie had found herself a sunny spot in the conservatory, and there she lay on her back, breathing evenly, paws sprawled in all directions. Kowalski lay next to her, watching her adoringly.

Credence settled in beside him and scratched behind his ear, and Kowalski pushed into his palm with a purr. “You’re really stuck on her, huh?”

The purring intensified, and Kowalski stretched leisurely.

“I think I might be feeling that way about Mr Graves.” Kowalski gave him a look. “I know, I know, but he was just a bit grumpy then. You have to admit, he’s a real sweetie.” This got a meow of agreement, and Kowalski climbed up on his lap and bumped his head into his chest. Credence laughed very softly; he didn’t want to wake Queenie. “Are you trying to tell me his heart’s in the right place? I know that already.”

“Mrow!” Kowalski settled in on his lap, head on his paws, as if to say, _My work is done_.

Credence sighed. “I wonder if he’s thought about me at all today since he went to see Jacob? He’s probably so busy, he’ll be surprised to be reminded I’m here.”

***

Graves' entire day since the beginning had been a rollercoaster of stops and starts, waiting and rushing. His work had seemed no more than a chore, keeping him away from home and dragging on almost painfully slow at times. He'd almost called or texted more than once and thought better of it each time (though it had been terribly hard to refrain from fussing). But he didn't want Credence feeling as though he wasn't trusted, and certainly he didn't want the boy figuring out he was genuinely _missed_. 

The inconvenient truth was that he _was_ missed--something that Graves still felt should be impossible despite the fact that it was clearly happening. By the time he'd managed to get free of the office, evening was beginning to darken the city and he found himself doing some more of that hurrying his work day had started out with. There was something almost… _anxious_ about the way he felt, as if he was scared he might get home to find Credence gone. 

As soon as he pushed through the door to the penthouse, it was clear his fears had been completely unfounded. In fact, it was the opposite: his home was absolutely _full_ of the boy. The sweet smell of (baking? Good lord…) something delicious filled the air, and the gold blanket that he already thought of as Credence's lay neatly folded at the end of the couch. Soft classical music was playing from a station on the flat screen, and as he looked around Graves noticed there was even an honest-to-god _flower_ on the table. Something tight inside his chest loosened, blooming with warmth when he laid eyes on the cause of it all: Credence, grinning towards him from the kitchen island where he stood wiping his hands and humming to the gentle string quartet. For a moment, Graves had to clamp down on the urge to promptly cross the apartment and enfold the boy in his arms. It was Queenie, chirping happily and twining round his legs that reminded him to hold back. 

"Mr Graves!" Credence said, the sound of it just as happy as Queenie's homecoming trills. 

"Credence," Graves answered, shoulders faintly dropping, and where he'd made the effort to refrain from bounding forward, he failed to do as well in keeping the relief from his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

Credence was turning out to be an absolute delight, and Graves was definitely in trouble. 

If the flower on the table and the cakes (two of them!) wasn't enough, the boy had gone to the trouble of cooking yet another perfect dinner as well as tidying up the apartment while Graves was at work. 

"I hope that's okay…" he'd said, faintly cringing as if Graves would possibly find something bad to say about the way he'd spent his time. "It's just that I'm so used to keeping busy." 

And keep busy he certainly _had_ done. The night before had been Greek, and this night it was Italian: a simple (and simply divine) spaghetti and meatballs. He'd made the sauce, the meatballs and even the garlic butter for the baguette himself, leaving Graves with the easy task of choosing an appropriate red wine. 

He'd had cooks, and housekeepers coming and going often enough throughout his life to have forgotten many of their names. Not that he would dare to think of Credence as either of those things, but there was something about eating the food he'd made or seeing the way he'd wiped down and neatly arranged the kitchen island… it left Graves more aware than ever of the cold, impersonal touch of a (sometimes nameless) hired presence. 

The things Credence did, he did with care. Not so much care for the task itself, but for _Graves_\--and with an intuitive touch he could never have predicted. Even when the things he did weren't perfect (if his housekeeper had cut one of his orchids, they'd have been promptly sacked), it was still just right, and exactly what Graves didn't know he'd been missing. 

Perhaps if Credence was _just_ a considerate houseguest, or a competent cook, Graves wouldn't be in any real danger. But, over dinner Graves had begun to realise (to his mingled delight and utter dismay) that Credence was a terribly intelligent and humorous conversationalist. That first night together, no doubt nerves and the rocky start they'd got off to had made him come off shy, but now… at one point, Credence had him nearly in tears with laughter, sharing his own very comical take on a story about Noah (from the _Bible_, of all things). Graves had never imagined someone being able to make anything from Genesis sound both so relatable _and_ hilarious, and he'd never imagined that person would wind up being the 'boho kid' from across the street. 

Everything about Credence was refreshing, like a cool breeze at the end of a day spent stifling behind his desk, and Graves was starting to understand that he'd been feeling his absence for _years_. 

"Mr Graves," Credence said, biting his lip towards the end of the meal, "I have a small confession to make." 

Graves raised his brows above the rim of his glass as he took a slow sip. Here. Here would be the disappointment that would free him from whatever spell Credence had cast over him. "Oh?" 

"Uh, yeah… I watched a few more episodes of Sabrina while you were at work." 

Graves took a breath, unsure of what to do with the giddy relief dancing through him as he watched Credence's brows come together in a (frankly adorable) cringe. 

"I'll be happy to watch them again," the boy was rushing to say, "if you wanted to see them tonight or anything like that, I know you were probably at work all day looking forward to the next episode...?" 

His voice trailed away as Graves waved his hand in the air, dismissing the notion entirely with a little smile. He wanted to… to what, celebrate? He wasn't sure how exactly to frame it to himself, but he wanted to share something special with Credence, something better than TV. He wanted to treat him to a memorable occasion. 

"Actually," he said, "I think I have an idea what I'd like to do this evening." 

***

“Where are we going, Mr Graves?” Credence asked, trying to tamp down on his excitement when Graves told him to put on his warmest coat or jacket. “Should we leave Queenie and Kowalski alone?”

Mr Graves smiled. “We won’t be leaving them alone, Credence, and we won’t be going very far at all.”

Credence hurried to the guest room and found his plaid parka, then tried to weigh up whether it was warmer than his poncho, or not. He stood indecisively long enough for Mr Graves to come looking for him and explained, “Sorry, I can’t decide which is warmer.”

Mr Graves frowned at the options. “Both! Or… better yet, come with me.” He held out his hand as if to take Credence’s, then quickly pulled it back. “I… um, I have something warmer you can wear.”

Credence followed him rather excitedly. Mr Graves was going to give him something from among his own things to wear? He kept following him, only realising they were walking right through the main bedroom when they’d almost reached a walk-in closet. His eyes fixed on the wide bed while Mr Graves rummaged through a row of coats and jackets, and he couldn’t help blushing at the extremely vivid mental image of Mr Graves in those pristine white sheets, blue blankets softening the contrast of the sheets to his dark hair and tanned skin. He wondered whether Mr Graves always slept in pyjamas matching his bed perfectly, like the pair this morning, or whether he sometimes slept…

“This one should fit you perfectly, Credence…” Mr Graves told him, his voice trailing off and softening on his name.

Credence realised to his horror that he’d been caught staring at the bed, and he flushed and gave his host a quick, awkward smile. Only then did he realise a beautiful grey wool coat was being held up, open and ready for him to try. He ducked his head and slipped first his right, then his left arm into it. It was beautifully warm, and its weight was a pleasure in itself.

Graves adjusted it on his shoulders. “Turn around,” he said softly.

Credence obeyed at once. “It’s very warm, Mr Graves,” was all he could say, faced with the pleased, gentle gaze moving over him. Warmth aside, what he really noticed was the faint scent of Mr Graves clinging to the wool, and he didn’t think he’d ever worn anything more comforting.

“Good. You’ll need to be warm. Come along.”

Credence followed him down the hallway, where Graves stopped off by the front door to slip the black coat he’d worn earlier back on. Then he was led right across the living room, and Graves looked around and smiled when his eyes came to rest on Queenie and Kowalski, on top of the afghan, trying to tear the toy mouse he’d bought the day before out of each other’s paws.

He slid open the terrace door and motioned for Credence to proceed him outside, then he followed him and pulled the door closed behind them. “It’s very cold out here at night, but the view of the sky is beautiful, and it’s just clear enough tonight to see the stars.”

Credence’s jaw dropped as he looked around. They were 22 stories above the street, and the traffic was audible out here, if only as a faint murmur. There was a deck chair at the far end of the terrace, and an empty parasol stand and table beside it and, behind it all, a covered hot tub with a wooden screen on three sides. He followed Mr Graves to the tall wall surrounding the entire terrace at about chest height.

Mr Graves was smiling at his awestruck expression. “You’ve been inside all day, I thought this would be a nice change.”

“I didn’t mind, Mr Graves, but thank you.” Credence beamed at him. He took a deep breath. “I can smell actual air up here, not just exhaust fumes like… back home.” He tried not to think about the rundown brownstone.

Graves gently took his elbow when they got close to the edge of the terrace. “Air conditioning is fine and, obviously, I never leave the door open, because of Queenie, but it’s nice to come out here once in a while.”

Credence peered over the side of the wall and took a quick step back.

“Careful,” Mr Graves said, even though it would be impossible to fall over the side. His hand tightened on Credence’s elbow.

Credence looked at him gratefully. “I’m fine, Mr Graves, I just get a bit dizzy. I haven’t been this high up before.”

“Then we’d better stay back and concentrate on what’s above us.” Mr Graves drew him back further until they could lean against the outer wall of the little conservatory. Then he pointed up, and Credence tipped his head back. “I wish I was any kind of expert on the night sky, but I’m afraid all I can tell you with absolute certainty is that that’s the moon, and that,” he moved his arm a little, “is Venus.”

Credence laughed. The sky was clear and bright; it had been a cold but sunny day. And there were more stars than he’d ever noticed before above New York. Maybe he hadn’t looked up often enough. Or, maybe, they were coming out for the special occasion of Mr Graves showing them to him.

“So beautiful,” he said with a sigh.

“Yes. Breathtaking.” Mr Graves’ voice was very close and his breath warm on the side of his face, and Credence shivered. “Are you too cold? Do you want to go back inside?” Graves’ voice sounded immediately worried.

“Oh no,” Credence told him. He turned his head to find Mr Graves’ eyes already on his face. “No, please,” he said, smiling. “I’d like to stay out here a little.”

Graves returned his smile. “Then at least let me make sure you’re warm enough.” 

Credence’s eyes widened, and he held his breath, when Mr Graves reached for his coat collar, but his breath left him in an uneven stutter of air when he merely began to button the coat from the top down, clearing his throat awkwardly when he reached as low as his hips. Credence held perfectly still as the belt was tied firmly too, and he met the dark eyes when Mr Graves reached once more for the collar, this time to turn it up.

“Better?” Graves asked huskily, his fingers lingering on the tips of the collar, a hair’s width from Credence’s jaw.

Not trusting himself to speak, Credence nodded, the motion causing his face to graze the warm fingers briefly. He gasped, and so did Mr Graves.

“Credence…” There was a long pause. “How… how is that?”

“Nice,” Credence whispered. “I mean, warm.”

Mr Graves shifted a little from foot to foot, seeming undecided about something. Then he turned to lean back again alongside Credence but, this time, his left arm moved around his shoulder and he drew him against his side. “This way might be even warmer.”

“Yes…” Credence breathed out his agreement, wondering what Mr Graves would do if he claimed to still be chilly. He made himself blush at the thought, and felt bad to even have considered pretending. “Thank you, Mr Graves.”

The hand rubbed gently up and down Credence’s upper arm and shoulder. “You know, I think that might be the constellation Felinus up there…” Mr Graves’ right arm pointed up to a nearly black region of sky, sporting only two stars close together.

Credence giggled. “Really?” he asked.

“I’m almost sure of it.” To his credit, Mr Graves managed to keep a straight face for nearly a minute, before he started chuckling.

Credence turned his face up to beam at him, and he was sure stars were reflecting in Graves’ eyes as he returned his gaze. “It’s nice out here, Mr Graves.”

Graves’ eyes moved over his face, and then he touched the knuckles of his right hand gently to Credence’s cheek. “It’s little enough for how welcoming you’ve made my apartment today. Coming home to the smell of freshly baked cake alone… my goodness. You’re spoiling me.”

Credence shivered at the words, and the touch, fighting not to turn his head and kiss Graves’ fingers. His host was merely being kind, he reminded himself. To calm down his own racing heart, he asked lightly, “You mean Queenie doesn’t bake for you? Not ever?”

Mr Graves’ eyes definitely sparkled when he laughed then, and Credence’s heart definitely skipped a few beats when he was pulled close and his hair was stroked, before Graves drew back again. “Not ever,” he said with a grin. He averted his eyes then, glancing into the penthouse through the conservatory glass.

Queenie and Kowalski were pacing right there, on the other side of the glass, clearly perturbed that they could see, but couldn’t get to, their humans.

“I think we’re missed,” Credence said, grinning.

***

"Let them go ahead and miss us a little while longer," Graves said. "They're only jealous." 

Credence laughed at that. "They certainly are, but Kowalski has no excuse. He gets to explore Greenwich Village to his heart's content." 

The words brought a sudden reminder to Graves' mind, then. "Have you thought about what I said yesterday? The collar?" 

Credence grew faintly serious at that, and Graves could almost believe that he even cuddled a little closer against his side, whether for warmth or reassurance, he couldn't tell. "Yeah," he said. "I think as soon as I get… back to my own place (and was that a touch of sadness in his voice?), I'll set some money aside and get him one as soon as possible." 

'What am I doing?' Graves thought, out here underneath the stars with his arm around the boy, _stroking_ him, for God's sake… Even just that morning, he’d promised himself to set aside any fantasies of reciprocation, and here he was hoping Credence was just as melancholy to return to his brownstone as Graves was himself over the prospect. The last thing he should be doing is making anything that sounded like _plans_ with him, and somehow still he heard himself saying the words anyhow. 

“What about if we order one? My treat. That way, he’ll have it right then when you get back home without any waiting in between.” 

Credence startled next to him, flushing and looking desperately flustered. “Oh no, Mr Graves, you’ve done so much for me already, and after my cat got you into this whole fix in the first place…”

“Nonsense,” he chided. “I promise we don’t need to go in for anything fancy. We’ll have some of that cake for dessert while we look over the options, and that way we’ll both be enjoying something nice the other did for us.” 

“Are… are you sure?” His eyes were wide, but Graves could see that he was beginning to be persuaded. He didn’t know why he wanted to _give_ things to the boy (or his cat) so badly--perhaps it was only that he had no other way to express just how lovely it had already been to have him around these past two days. A sign of his appreciation (_and of your growing affection, admit it_ a little voice faintly hissed.) 

“I’m absolutely sure,” he answered, savouring the blush of embarrassed pleasure on Credence’s cheeks even there under the pale evening light. It struck him that he could stay in that moment possibly forever--Credence warm and safe at his side, well cared for. He wished he could, stay like that, even while talking about what would happen when Credence eventually went home. Because he was beginning to hate the thought. Would everything just go back to the way it was, once the week was done? Suddenly, the foolishness of putting his arm around the boy, of laughing with him, or touching his face--it didn't seem so foolish at all, if the next five days would be the only chance he had. 

It seemed Credence was, at least in part, with him on that sentiment. He shifted next to Graves and this time--no, Graves was sure of it--he nestled in a little closer as he sighed. "Can we stay out here just a little longer?" he asked. "It's so… I just feel really good right now." 

Graves' answering smile was slow and fond, he could feel it. "Of course," he murmured. "I really should look at the stars more often, I think." 

Once they went back inside (nearly forty blissful minutes later), the cats twined around their legs chirping and mewing loudly as though they'd believed the two of them might never return. "So dramatic," Graves chided with a little smile, joining Credence in petting and scritching them both in turn. 

A few times, their hands collided as they alternated strokes between black and white fur--each time making something jolt deep within Graves' stomach. After the first accidental touch, he let it happen at least once or twice more, partly (most _definitely_) on purpose. Credence, for his part, kept his eyes downcast on the twining cats, although Graves thought he seemed a little flushed. It could've simply been the sudden shift of temperature after having stayed outside so long on an autumn evening, but he couldn't be sure…

"I'll get us some cake," Credence suggested, rising swiftly from his crouch and heading towards the kitchen before Graves could manage to decide whether it was a blush he'd detected or not. 

***

While washing his hands in preparation of serving up the cake, Credence tried to get his breathing, and his fluster, back under control. He considered splashing some cold water on his face, but it would look too strange to Mr Graves. Especially after all that time out in the cold with him. He suppressed a little moan, pressing against the cabinet, glad to still be wearing the coat.

Mr Graves’ coat... which smelled of him, and hugged him as warmly as Mr Graves had held him pressed to his side out there. All while showing him the stars, and a romantic side Credence never would have suspected he had. But… if he was being romantic... 

Credence looked across the kitchen counter at him to find Mr Graves’ eyes already on him, even while he was still stroking the cats--both of them, no less, with Kowalski purring as happily as Queenie at the attention. Credence felt like purring himself, certain he could still feel Mr Graves’ warm hands sliding over his fingers on soft fur.

He watched, wide-eyed, as Kowalski tapped a knee with one paw, and Mr Graves leaned down to him with a smile and a soft murmur. It looked as if Kowalski was telling him a secret, and Credence fervently hoped it wasn’t _his_ secret told to the little sneak earlier.

Did Mr Graves think of him as a stray, like Kowalski, something to be kind to and protect, or was it more? Mr Graves’ hadn’t seemed the type to take in strays until he’d invited them both into his home. If he was merely being kind, why show him the stars… hold him close… look into his eyes so fondly… breathe his name the way he sometimes did when--

“Credence.” Mr Graves was right beside him then, as if he’d been summoned by the strength of Credence’s longing.

“Mr Graves?” he asked in a shaky voice.

“You’re still wearing your coat,” he was told with a chuckle.

“Your coat,” Credence said, not quite meeting his eyes.

“It fits you much better, and you’ll need it again out there.” Mr Graves tilted his head until Credence had to look at him. “You don’t need it to dish up cake, though.” Just like before, outside, he attended to the belt and the large buttons holding the coat closed except, this time, he did not wrap Credence in it. He _unwrapped_ him.

Credence trembled through the removal of his shield, twisting out of the open coat and stepping back as soon as he could before Mr Graves would notice the state he was in. “Would you like… tea, Mr Graves?” he asked, a little desperately.

“That would be lovely. Why don’t I make it while you--”

“Oh no, please, let me!” Credence all but pleaded. He smiled and turned away, gathering up dishes and cups and willing himself to calm down.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Mr Graves said. “I’ll hang up the coat and get the laptop started, all right?”

Credence glanced back over his shoulder while he filled up the electric kettle. “All right,” he agreed, with a sigh of relief.


	7. Chapter 7

"Credence, this cake is _delicious_. And correct me if I'm wrong, but did you make two different kinds?" 

The cake wasn't the only thing that was delicious. Already, only around 24 hours later, Graves was back to smelling Credence's hair again. 

Which shouldn't even make any _sense_, considering the boy had showered in his home since then, and should, by all rights, simply smell like Graves himself. But that was perhaps the worst part of it--he liked the fact that Credence smelled of his own shampoo. He liked Credence in his bed, wrapped in his coat, curled up on the couch underneath the gold blanket he'd bought… Graves was acting like a cat himself, rubbing his scent everywhere he possibly could and marking Credence as _his_. And now there they were, perched side by side on the couch with Graves' laptop open on the coffee table before them, all so he could leave some new territorial mark. 'Might as well pick out a collar for the _boy_,' Graves chided himself, 'while you're at it.' 

"Yes," Credence was saying, and Graves fought to pay attention, doing his best to ignore the warmth of him just nearly pressed against his side again. "There's an apple and a plum, so you'll have to let me know which one you liked best." 

Credence's cheeks were about as red as a pair of apples at the praise alone, and Graves wanted to reach his hand and stroke his knuckles against their softness, feel the heat of the flush on his own skin. God, he needed to get it together… He cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea, though by all means he would do better with something more cooling to drink. 

"I'll… I'll be sure to do just that, Credence," he finally answered. "Though for now, _you'll_ have to be the one telling _me_ what you like." 

"...Mr Graves?" Credence had turned to him slightly, eyes wide and perhaps a little darker than Graves quite remembered them. 

"The collars," he quickly answered, leaning forward to fiddle with the cursor on the screen, scrolling the images past more quickly than either of them could hope to actually take in. He prayed that Credence would be just as unable to take much notice of his unfortunate wording just then. "Um, there's a lot of options here, it looks like." 

Credence took a breath and seemed to pull himself back from wherever his thoughts had briefly gone to. "Uh… yeah. It looks like a lot, actually. Mr Graves, are you sure this is okay? I don't want to take advantage of your generosity here."

Graves stopped scrolling and sat back to regard Credence with a small frown. "Of course it's all right, Credence. I don't want you worrying about that… I wouldn't offer something, even something small, if I hadn't already firmly decided that's what I want to do." He scratched at the back of his neck, feeling suddenly a little sheepish. "You may find I can be, well… a bit stubborn in my decisiveness. It usually serves me quite nicely in my work life, but if I'm ever coming across as pushy, by all means tell me where to go." 

He was rewarded with a deepening of the blush that had just been on the verge of fading, along with an adorable little giggle. "I wouldn't tell you 'where to go,' Mr Graves," Credence laughed, biting his lip. "But I understand what you mean. If… if it's okay with you for sure, then I'd like to take you up on the offer, at least this one." 

After a pause just long enough for Graves to make a meal out of the words 'at least this one,' Credence cast his eyes down to the screen and softly went on, "I like that you're the way you are. Decisive, I mean. Sometimes… sometimes I don't always know what to do, and it makes me feel… I don't know, I just think it's nice that you can structure things the way you want them to be." He shrugged as Graves sat listening, nearly afraid to breathe and break the moment. "It's not a bad way to be," the boy finally finished, "if your judgement is… I mean, if you're a good person. I'm sure _Queenie_ benefits from that. I-- in fact, I know she does." 

It took Graves a few tries before he found his voice, long enough, as it happened, for Credence to glance nervously in his direction again--most likely to check that he hadn't done something wrong. 

"That's… Credence, that might be the kindest way anyone's quite described it before." Graves huffed out a laugh, trying to make light of it and of himself--but mostly to cover for how badly he wanted to launch himself across the gap between them and kiss Credence senseless. He would happily make all _kinds_ of decisions on the boy's behalf if he thought he could get away with it, and no one had ever really appreciated that about him. At best, it had been tolerated, and usually not for very long. If he was being absolutely honest with himself (always a dangerous game), there was a reason Queenie was his only real company. Before Credence.

"Let's, uh…" he cleared his throat. "Let's have a look at these collars, while we're on the topic of decisions."

***

It was very hard to concentrate on choosing a collar for Kowalski, when Mr Graves was sitting right beside him. They had started out with an inch or two between them but, peering closely at the screen to make out details in the item descriptions, their arms tended to rub against each other, and the outsides of their legs pressed close more often than not. It seemed, to Credence, as if each time this happened, they allowed it to last a little longer, though he was honest enough to admit to himself that he was in no state to keep track of the passage of time.

“What kind of collar do you think would be best, Mr Graves?” he eventually asked, becoming desperate, both to avoid a decision, and to put some space between them, before he was tempted to lean right into Mr Graves, with his head on his shoulder and his arms around his neck, and inhale the wonderful way he smelled.

Graves looked terribly pleased at the question; Credence assumed because he’d finally confessed how much he liked it when he made decisions for him. Why he’d admitted _that_, he couldn’t imagine, and he only hoped Mr Graves wouldn’t realise just _how much_ his decisiveness… pleased him.

“I think the most important thing about a collar is that it’s comfortable, well padded, and safe to wear. Cats can get stuck in tight places, and they should be able to free themselves easily. Also, I’d go for something with a design that sparkles or is highlighted in some way, especially important for a black cat roaming about at night, I think.”

Credence sighed. “Is there a collar that does all that?”

“I’m sure,” Graves said soothingly, squeezing Credence’s knee, “we just have to find--.” He withdrew his hand rapidly.

Credence stared at his knee, which seemed to glow with warmth, even though the touch had been so brief, and Mr Graves had only wanted to reassure him, surely?

“I suppose so?” he murmured.

Graves nodded, but looked a little spooked, his eyes on Credence’s knee too. He cleared his throat and returned his attention back to the screen.

They scrolled through the genuine leather collars with gold and sterling silver buckles, and Credence shook his head at all of them; they were too expensive. Then they went through some thin nylon options, which certainly glowed brightly enough but, despite descriptions proclaiming them to be comfortable to wear, Credence found it hard to believe.

Graves agreed with him and kept scrolling, and then he stopped. “Credence, look!” he said, smiling.

Credence’s own smile widened as he looked at the image, then read the description, of the Gold Moons and Stars Pet Collars. They were handmade, well padded, came in various jewel and pastel colours, and were decorated with a charming celestial design, glowing golden in daylight and also in the dark, to ‘give your cat that witch’s familiar look’. There was an adjustable breakaway buckle and an attached set of a gold charm and bell.

“Oh, Mr Graves!” he said, beaming.

“Perfect, I’d say. Now you just need to choose your colour, unless you want me to make a suggestion?”

“Yes, please,” Credence immediately said. He was torn between royal blue, emerald green and crimson red--the last of which reminded him strongly of the guest room bed sheets.

“Crimson red,” Graves said at once.

Credence blinked at him. “Yes! He’ll love that.”

Both cats had wandered up closer to them, whether they somehow knew there was cat talk happening, or whether they were finally attracted by the smell of something edible, or were just plain curious... it was hard to tell.

“I think he knows he’s in for new jewellery,” Graves joked.

Laughing, Credence said, “He’ll be very pleased to look like a witch’s familiar.”

“I think he might be,” Graves said then. When Credence looked at him, he clarified, in a confidential whisper, “He might be a witch’s familiar.”

Credence giggled. “That would make me a witch, Mr Graves.”

“Hmm.” Graves assessed him until Credence blushed, then looked at Kowalski with great suspicion. “I definitely feel more than a little bewitched.”

There was a long pause while Credence let that sink in, and Graves seemed as surprised by the statement as he was.

“What I mean is: the little guy is really growing on me,” Graves eventually said, reaching down to rub his fingertips over the top of Kowalski’s head.

“Oh.” Credence hadn’t known he had stopped breathing until he started up again. “I’m very glad, Mr Graves.”

Graves quirked a half smile at him. “We’d better get him a tag as well, with his name and your phone number engraved on it. Or…” He furrowed his brow and appeared to be thinking very hard about something, assessing Credence as he did.

“What is it, Mr Graves?”

“I’m wondering… you don’t have your own transport or a cat carrier, Credence, in case you need to pick him up from somewhere. How would you feel… uh… how would you feel about engraving _my_ number on the tag?” He looked almost worried, suggesting that, as if there was a lot more behind the idea than practical considerations.

Credence’s first thought was that, considering Mr Graves’ generosity, chances were this was his way of _not_ saying that someone phoning the number on Kowalski’s tag would expect a reward for doing so, and that Credence would have trouble paying. But then another reason came into his mind, and his heart started pounding. Did Mr Graves want to make sure they would stay in touch, after this week? Was it a kind of… proprietary gesture not just towards Kowalski but… _himself_?

“I quite understand if you don’t want that, Credence.” Graves’ smile looked rather forced then. “For all I know, you’ll be quite glad not to be so closely linked to me after this week, and--”

“Yes,” Credence said quickly.

“Yes?” Mr Graves asked, eagerly almost.

It encouraged a coy smile. “Yes, Mr Graves, I’d like it to be your number on his collar.” For a crazy moment, Credence found himself wondering whether there was any way _he_ could possibly get a collar like that. He blushed furiously at the thought.

“All right,” Graves said, smiling and looking very pleased.

Credence decided it would be a good time for him to escape. “There’s another cup of tea, Mr Graves. Would you like that, with some plum cake to compare?” He stood without even waiting for an answer.

“Yes please, Credence.”

Credence fled to the kitchen--it really was becoming something of a refuge from his own embarrassment. 

***

Graves had essentially gone right off the rails on this particular evening and yet…. it was working out for him?

He didn't know when it had started, this loss of control. The stargazing? Or even earlier--laughing like a schoolgirl over Credence's anecdotes at dinner, perhaps. Most likely it was even earlier than that (he wasn't going to dwell too long on thoughts of his morning shower, lest he find himself needing another one). 

Credence had said he _liked_ it when Graves made decisions. Credence had wanted _Graves'_ number on Kowalski's collar, trusted him to handle things the way he saw fit, even when it really wasn't any of his business…

All of it was making him feel more and more bold (he'd touched his _knee_!), and if he wasn't careful, he was going to put his foot right in it. He kept picturing the crimson shade of the cat collar they'd picked, imagining what it would be like to see a similar one against Credence's pale throat--he'd never even thought about things like that before. What, was he becoming one of those _S & M_ people now? 

It was just the idea of having Credence (and his cat, he hadn't lied that the rascal was growing on him) safe and cosy in his home, never giving him cause to worry about what the world might bring them. Because Graves knew Credence hadn't had the happiest of childhoods, and nor was his adult life exactly easy--that much was obvious. And then there was the matter of how much Graves hated the thought of missing even one moment of Credence's loveliness, how _empty_ things would inevitably feel without him there every day. How had this happened, and so quickly? 

When Credence sat back down next to him with more tea, and the cake similarly replenished, Graves did his best to seem casual.

"I've placed the order," he said with a smile. "It shouldn't be longer than a couple of days until it gets here." 

Credence gave him a long look, eyes scanning slowly over his face before they (very curiously, Graves thought) landed on his folded hands for a second or two. His tongue made a brief, flickering appearance over his lip before he began to worry it between his teeth--a mannerism Graves was beginning to recognise, as well as fear how close to mad it may eventually drive him. "Thank you so much, Mr Graves," he finally murmured. "You've… you've really been _so_ nice to me." 

"I don't have any reason not to be, Credence," Graves answered softly, "and plenty of reason why I think you deserve it."

Credence's eyes jerked right back up to his face at that. "You do?" he asked, as if he'd never even heard of such a thing before. The way Credence reacted to little kindnesses, one might think he was convinced he was the worst person in the world, rather than (in Graves' growing esteem) the best. 

"Of course," Graves said. He was aware that things were coming dangerously close to something like a hasty declaration, and did his best to lighten up the mood before it was all too late. "I mean," he gestured down to the plate on the coffee table before picking it up, "look at all this cake. It's the least I can do." 

Credence smiled demurely, and for a brief flicker Graves wondered if he saw something like confusion in his eyes before it was gone again. 

"How about we watch another episode of your show before bed?" Graves suggested. 

Credence seemed to perk up at that. "You don't mind that you missed a couple of them?" he asked. 

"Not at all. You can fill me in on what I've missed." 

'Apparently,' Graves thought, 'he's been doing that since the minute he got here.' 

For the next hour, Graves did nothing more than savour every little detail in a way he'd formerly reserved for things like fine wines and caviar. Credence's smell, his warmth, his little huffs of laughter at the show, his perfect profile like something out of classical sculpture…. at some point halfway through, Kowalski came to join them, snuggling up (for once) in the gold blanket pooling over Credence's crossed legs, purring contentedly. Graves found that he wholeheartedly agreed with him. 

Once it was time to pack up and say goodnight, the both of them seemed to linger longer than was necessary in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes and covering up the cake to keep it safe from drying out (or attracting feline curiosity). Every now and then, they came close to accidentally colliding, the way they always seemed to despite the size of the work space, each time blushing and smiling softly with murmured little apologies. It was all so sweetly domestic, something Graves had never honestly experienced before in quite that way. His four walls were becoming a place he wanted to be rather than simply somewhere to keep his carefully curated belongings. 

Or, at least, wherever Credence was--that was where Graves wanted to be. It made it much harder this time, to drag himself towards his own room at the end of the day, rather than join Credence on those red sheets as though he'd been doing so for ages. 

There was a moment (and of course Graves couldn't be _sure_, but…) when saying goodnight could no longer be truly avoided; Credence had hovered outside the door to Graves' room, his shuffling, uncertain movements casting shadows in the sliver of light across the carpet. 

"Good-- goodnight, Mr Graves," he'd finally blurted out, quickly and as though he had intended to say something more before scurrying away to his room instead. 

"Good night, Credence," Graves had answered back, unsure of whether or not he'd even been heard.


	8. Chapter 8

The image of Mr Graves, looking commanding at the helm of a ship--bobbing up and down in a sea of deep blue, with white caps in the shape of pillows, haunted Credence’s dreams. When he woke around six in the morning, he didn’t know whether to groan or laugh at his subconscious.

He wondered why he’d woken up so early, until Kowalski’s nose nudged into his cheek.

“Why did you wake me up?” Credence grumbled, but he smiled and played with Kowalski’s ears in a way that always made him purr loudly.

Kowalski lay on his chest for a few minutes, then hopped off the bed and strutted out the door of the guest room, probably in search of Queenie.

An idea came to Credence, and he hurriedly got out of bed and pulled on his most comfortable sweater. Then he tiptoed out to the kitchen and started a batch of pancakes. While the oven preheated, he made a simple compote with frozen red berries on the stove top, and spiced it with cinnamon and cloves.

He guessed Mr Graves would get up soon, but he appeared a little earlier than expected, smiling sleepily and with his bathrobe done up less than perfect. Credence wanted nothing more than to surprise him with a good morning kiss, but decided that would be _too_ much of a surprise.

“Morning, Mr Graves!”

“Good morning, Credence.” Running his fingers through his hair, and leaving it standing up on end in a way that threatened to make Credence giggle, he peered over the kitchen counter. “Something delicious smelling woke me up, which was a far more pleasant experience than my alarm bleating at me.”

Credence grinned. “I was just trying to decide whether to wait or wake you up, and I thought I’d wait. I couldn’t decide _how_ to wake you.” He blushed.

Mr Graves gave him a warm, slowly widening smile that curled Credence’s toes. “You waking me up would certainly have been more pleasant than that alarm.”

Thinking that Mr Graves really shouldn’t be allowed to sound so… raspy and mellow in the morning, Credence quickly busied himself spreading out bacon rashers in a flat baking dish. “This won’t take long to make, so I’ll wait until you’re in the shower.”

Mr Graves tipped an imaginary hat and said, “Well, I’d better get myself in there, if I want to find out what you’re cooking up this morning.” He departed with another glance and smile back over his shoulder and, soon after, the shower started up.

Credence pushed the bacon rashers and a couple of peeled bananas under the grill, then got the coffee percolating before starting the pancakes.

By the time Mr Graves reappeared, without a tie but with his top shirt buttons undone, to Credence’s breath-stealing distraction, the coffee was poured and on the table, and he was scooping little mounds of compote onto the edges of the plates. He added the bacon and grilled bananas last, on top of the pancakes, and handed the plates to Mr Graves when he reached across the kitchen island.

He brought both maple syrup and a bottle of spicy plum sauce to the dining table and joined Mr Graves there.

“If I wasn’t worried about this getting cold, I’d just sit here and inhale the smell for ten minutes,” Mr Graves declared. When Credence laughed, he added, “I mean it, everything about you smells-- I mean, everything you _make_ smells divine.” He quickly speared a piece of bacon and started to chew on it, looking flustered and unable to meet Credence’s eyes.

Credence dropped his own gaze and took a sip of coffee that was far too hot, feeling much the same way. “Thank you, Mr Graves,” he croaked, hoping his host would know he was thanking him both for what he’d said and what he’d almost said.

After that, Mr Graves seemed to hardly speak at all, only gifting Credence with soft, appreciative smiles and hums of culinary delight, until he mentioned that his cleaner would turn up around 8:30, and that Credence was not to let her nosiness bother him.

“Tina will ask for your life story, given half a chance,” he warned.

“Don’t worry, Mr Graves, I’ll keep that to myself.”

He got a concerned look then and tried to lighten the mood. “I could help her with the cleaning though?”

“Absolutely not, Credence! I know you enjoy cooking and baking, and heaven knows _I_ enjoy your cooking and baking, but no one enjoys cleaning and, as I’ve told you, you’re not my hired help, you’re a _very_ welcome guest. Just put up your feet, read or watch TV, surf the internet… play hide and seek with the cats! Anything you like.”

Credence laughed. “If you’re sure.”

“I certainly am. I don’t want to find you feeling exhausted when I get home.” He looked as concerned as if being greeted by a worn out, overworked Credence had actually already happened.

“Mr Graves,” Credence said softly. “I want to tell you…”

Graves set down his cutlery and leaned closer. “Yes, Credence?”

Credence felt shy, as he often did around him. “I’ve actually never felt better than I do right now.”

Mr Graves looked at him almost helplessly. “Credence… I’m so pleased to hear that.” He reached out a hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed it over Credence’s where it lay on the table. He squeezed it warmly but very gently.

Credence swallowed, staring at the elegant, well cared for hand--and he’d certainly admired Mr Graves’ hands before. He felt as if the warmth of the smooth palm was spreading slowly out into his whole body. The touch was over all too soon, but the comforting effect of it, he knew, would stay with him all day.

The cleaner did arrive at almost precisely 8:30 a.m. and seemed nothing short of stunned to find Credence in the penthouse.

“Morning, I’m Tina. Are you a… guest of Mr Graves’?” she asked, without preamble, while getting to work.

“Yes. Hello, I’m Credence.” He held out his hand in greeting, but she was already in the process of donning rubber gloves.

Laughing, she said. “Sorry, I’m just surprised. He never lets anyone into this place!”

Credence tried not to show how incredibly pleased he was to hear that, but Tina was already going on, “The background checks he did on me and Newt--Newt cooks for him, though he’s got the week off--you wouldn’t _believe_! This place is like a temple.”

Queenie wandered into the living room then, passing Tina with a ‘meow’ of greeting, before doing her morning stretches on her tree post.

Tina snorted. “And that’s the Vestal virgin. Or _was_, I should say.” She laughed when Kowalski came galloping out in hot pursuit of his paramour, leaping cheekily over Queenie’s head and onto the second tier up. Tina stared at Credence, “Wait… is he yours?”

Credence nodded, blushing guiltily on Kowalski’s behalf. “I’m trying to make up for it by cat-sitting this week,” he told her, before remembering Graves’ warning not to encourage Tina by volunteering information.

She grinned. “Oh, really? How did that happen? Mr Graves was furious when he found out she was pregnant.”

Credence sighed, giving her as little information as possible and claiming to have studying to do shortly after. He snuck away into his room and sat on the bed with the laptop he’d been given permission to use, while Tina laboured away.

About half a minute after the vacuum cleaner started up in the living area, Kowalski and Queenie came sprinting into his room, and he laughed when they cuddled together in the pet basket, looking as if their paws were covering each other’s ears.

There was nothing he really had to do in the way of studying, so he started to look for dinner ideas. It was when he stumbled on a page with the heading: _Make Desserts So Yummy, He Can’t Help But Fall in Love With You_ that a thought occurred to him. 

Reminding himself to make sure he cleared the search history later, he began to browse for ideas on how to be flirtatious and seductive, blushing the whole time as if Mr Graves was standing right there, looking over his shoulder.

***

Credence had said he never felt so good as he did…. just then, in that moment. But what was it that had made him feel that way? If Graves was a braver man in matters of the heart, he would have asked, rather than petting his hand and simply hoping the touch would say it all for him. 

Was it the fact that he was able to stay in a nice place for a while, with heat and good food and plenty of gifts? Or, if Graves dared to hope, was _he_ part of what made Credence so content to be cooped up in his home for days? If he could believe he had any part in the boy’s happiness, that alone would be enough to carry him. Graves couldn’t claim he’d ever really made someone else happy before, not that he’d ever been told at least. He wasn’t sure he cared much, in a general sense, whether he made people ‘happy’ or not, but with Credence, the thought seemed absolutely imperative. Because nothing had ever felt quite so rewarding, or crucial to Graves’ own happiness, as well. 

The trick now, he supposed, would be in keeping Credence feeling as good as he’d claimed to in that moment--and perhaps (he prayed) that might even lead into keeping him around. But how to go about it? 

With a heavy sigh, Graves shuffled the documents on his desk yet again, as though rustling the pages a little might finally make the words properly enter his mind and stay there. As it was, he’d been staring at the same page header for close to half an hour, watching it blur and glaze in and out of focus as his mind chased after thoughts of Credence like Queenie with one of her toys. The coffee next to his elbow had long since gone cold and wouldn’t be any help to him, and besides--no one here at the firm could make it taste even half as good as Credence did at home. ‘As Credence does at home,’ he thought to himself, huffing a little laugh at his own expense. ‘Listen to you, acting all cosy as if you’re a couple of newlyweds instead of a pair of cat dads thrown together and making the best of it.’ 

He needed to get out of the office, stretch his legs and shake off this (ridiculous, lovestruck) stupor he’d found himself in. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was already close to lunch anyhow. Leaning forward, he told his assistant over the intercom that he’d be going out for a while and then stood up and grabbed his coat off the mahogany hat rack next to the door. 

It was only a handful of minutes later, really, when he found himself standing in front of the fall window display at the John Varvatos store as if he were mesmerised. He should have known that a walk down the street to his favourite deli would only somehow bring Credence to mind yet again. But the red cashmere sweater on the mannequin, soft as kitten’s fur and just about exactly the same shade of red they’d chosen for Kowalski’s collar--it was perfect. 

He pictured (with far more imagination than he would normally be able to boast) just exactly how pale Credence’s skin would look framed by the deep V of the sweater’s neckline, and if he should happen to blush… Without catching himself in time, Graves let out a soft little whimper there on the street, quickly glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. And of course, none of the busy people jostling by had any attention to spare in his direction, nor any clue what kind of perfect, delectable, _miraculous_ boy he had waiting at home. 

That was it--he had no patience for withholding on this--he wanted to see Credence wearing this sweater and he was damn well _going_ to. He’d gone so far as to fantasise about him wearing a collar of the same crimson hue, and a sweater was easily a reasonable compromise. If the boy didn’t like it, or if he felt it was too expensive, well then… it could be another blanket for Kowalski to ignore. Either way, it was coming home with him this afternoon. 

“Something for the gentleman?” the clerk asked eagerly as soon as he came through the door. Graves shook his head, already calculating the correct size in his mind--a little slimmer, maybe an inch taller than himself…. 

“No,” he answered. “For someone very special, in fact.” 

If he’d hoped his outing would calm him, Graves was sorely mistaken. He returned to the office carrying the sweater wrapped carefully in a box underneath one arm and brimming with a newfound determination to _win_ Credence over completely. 

Why shouldn’t Credence be happy all the time, and why shouldn’t Graves be the one to see to it? Each single one of the boy’s shy smiles were now amongst Graves’ most prized possessions, and soon enough, so would be the sight of him smiling just as sweetly dressed in soft red cashmere. 

He-- he wouldn’t frighten him off, he’d meant it when he promised himself that Credence couldn’t be left to feel as though it had all been planned or god forbid, that he _owed_ Graves something. But he could coax the boy, couldn’t he? Woo him, as it were. If there was even the slightest chance, Graves had a responsibility to the both of them--to present himself as the best romantic option Credence could possibly want--and then let the boy decide for himself. 

***

By the time Credence was preparing dinner--a chicken casserole with little herb bread rolls he’d improvised--he’d worked himself into an absolute state. He’d spent _hours_ reading advice on how to show someone you have romantic feelings towards them, and most of it sounded so… silly. Discounting the less silly, but quite impossible, options of buying flowers or chocolates or thoughtful gifts of some kind, he was left with _body language and verbal cues_ and was convinced he could never pull this off.

Nevertheless, he’d made up his mind that, even if Mr Graves was interested in him--which still seemed deep down impossible--he would be much too honorable to make a move, so it was up to him to at least hint.

He kept a close eye on the time and hovered near the doorway, but Graves still surprised him by coming home half an hour earlier than the evening before. The unexpectedness of it all instantly jumbled Credence’s plans, and he frantically did the first thing he remembered from all he’d read.

_Pose seductively._

He sprinted over to the sofa and perched on the back of it, half reclining with one arm behind his back and one leg draped over the end cushion. He threw back his head with a dramatic gusto that made his neck crack and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Credence?” Mr Graves sounded rather confused, and then worried. “Credence, look out!”

Everything tilted and Credence overbalanced right off the back of the sofa, flailing helplessly while it lifted onto its back legs, then dropped back down. Kowalski, who’d been sitting on it, bounced once, hissed, and relocated to the afghan, where Queenie was already waiting with the air of someone who had known better.

Mr Graves was there at once to catch Credence, having dropped his coat and a box on the floor, but he caught him so awkwardly, the long limbs pulled him down as well, and they both ended up on the carpet behind the sofa, blinking in confusion.

“Are you hurt?” Graves asked.

Credence moved his head from side to side. “No. Are you, Mr Graves?”

“I don’t think so.” Graves blinked down at him. “What happened?”

‘I made a complete fool of myself,’ Credence thought, fully realising then how spectacularly he had failed at posing seductively. He scrambled out from under Mr Graves and pulled himself up by the back of the sofa, keeping his face averted the whole time in embarrassment.

“Credence?” Mr Graves reached up to him with a smile and, misunderstanding, Credence took his hand and pulled him up, then quickly let go.

“I… I was checking on Kowalski. On the sofa, and… I lost my balance. Sorry. And sorry I pulled you over too, Mr Graves.”

Queenie, over on the afghan, gave a rumbling purr which, Credence was convinced, was laughter.

“No harm done,” Mr Graves said, running a hand over Credence’s upper arm. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Of course.” Credence did his best to smile. “I’d better check on dinner!” He started across the room. 

It was only once he’d retrieved the bread rolls from the oven and was placing them carefully in a small basket that he realised he had completely wasted a chance:

_Use any physical proximity as an opportunity for more._

He groaned. Then he wondered where Mr Graves had gone, and found him stooping to pick up his coat and the box he’d come in with. “Oh, Mr Graves, I’m sorry I made you drop things!” he called out, feeling worse than ever.

Graves straightened up and smiled at him. “You didn’t, Credence. I was just in a hurry to catch you.”

Credence blushed, thinking that _maybe_, his failed posing hadn’t gone completely wrong after all.

Throughout dinner, accompanied by some of the Chardonnay from two days before, Mr Graves kept looking at the box--now on the sideboard, and at Credence, by turns. He also complimented him on dinner as lavishly as ever.

“You’re full of surprises, Credence. All I can be sure about with you is that I’ll come home to something... wonderful.” Mr Graves spoke the last word softly, with a gentle smile.

Credence, feeling encouraged by the praise, decided to give some dinner table flirtation a try.

_Bat your eyelashes at him to draw attention to your eyes._

He blinked at Graves rapidly, in quick succession, until his eyes watered.

“Did you get something in your eye?” Graves asked solicitously, looking very baffled. He began to stand up, presumably to hurry to the rescue with one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs.

Credence shook his head. “No, I… I thought I did, but it was just a lash, I think. It’s gone, anyway.”

Graves sat back down again. “Well, if you’re sure.” He looked concerned.

Credence nodded.

They talked about their day--Graves made a point of having had the kind of day which had made him wish for nothing more than to hurry home; Credence mentioned that Tina had not succeeded at finding out all his deep, dark secrets.

‘What are these deep, dark secrets of yours?” Graves asked teasingly.

Ducking his head, Credence murmured, “Nothing exciting, Mr Graves.”

“Really? I wonder…” 

***

“I’m sure there’s plenty about you that’s exciting, Credence,” Graves heard himself saying. Across the table, the boy’s eyes widened, and he flushed that adorable shade of red that immediately brought to mind the gift Graves had yet to reveal. 

How was everything about Credence so completely endearing? It was becoming apparent that he was an absolute _klutz_, something that would normally have Graves retreating with secondhand embarrassment--but in Credence’s case, it only made him somehow more appealing. The way he’d looked sprawled out behind the sofa, all gangly limbs and helpless stunned surprise… Graves sipped his wine carefully to cover his own sudden flush, unable to stop himself from imagining those long limbs wrapped all around him, and the boy panting just as helplessly under his touch right there on the living room floor. ‘Oh lord,’ he told himself, ‘find a distraction before you turn into The Big Bad Wolf at the dinner table.’

And how fitting for a Big Bad Wolf indeed, for him to dress Credence up in red? “I have a bit of a secret I’ve been keeping myself, as it happens,” Graves admitted. 

Credence looked up at him then and held his gaze, a whole spectrum of warring emotions making their way across his face. Hope, apprehension, and something starkly vulnerable in its openness. Seeing it all, Graves knew right away he would need to put the boy out of his misery and not drag it out and leave him guessing god knows what. He inclined his head meaningfully towards the box sitting innocently on the sideboard and watched Credence follow the look. 

“I’m afraid you’ll simply have to indulge me on this one, I just won’t hear otherwise.” He rose from his chair and went to retrieve the box while Credence kept his eyes on him in avid curiosity now--like one of the cats, tracking the movement of a favourite toy. Graves tucked the box under his arm and moved towards the living room with his wine glass still in hand. “Let’s come sit on the sofa,” he said, smirking at the way Credence briefly hesitated over the dishevelled state of the kitchen table. “We’ll clean it up later on,” he reassured. 

Following him into the living room, Credence sat down next to him on the sofa--eyes wide and still faintly worried, an expression (and reaction to a surprise) that Graves chose not to dwell too deeply on. Whatever had come before, things were going to be happy for Credence whenever he was under this roof, that was a certainty Graves knew he had absolute control over. 

“All right,” he began, sliding the box out from under his arm and setting it for the moment across his own lap. “Like I said before, I won’t have any objections.” Credence nodded politely at the words, eyes wide and almost chastised, as though he were anticipating some sort of… what, punishment? “You’ve let me show quite a bit of generosity towards Kowalski, and I appreciate that. But now I’m afraid it’s your turn.” 

Graves picked up the box and set it down into the lap of a now (desperately) flustered Credence. “Mr Graves?” he asked softly, completely at sea. He moved his hands toward the surface of the box and then paused like he was afraid to touch it--or perhaps was merely waiting for permission, a thought which did all number of obscene things to Graves. For a moment, he found himself wishing again for the protection of the slim box over his lap. 

“Go on, open it,” he answered with a soft smile, a smile which quickly widened at the way Credence immediately obeyed as though the gift might be taken away if he failed to act quickly enough. He lifted the lid--and then took in a long, trembling breath--not quite a gasp but something that spoke of a far deeper feeling than simple pleasure or surprise. Then he looked to Graves like he was some sort of shining angel just revealed on a designer sofa in a Manhattan high rise and said “... _oh_.” If Graves could frame the moment somehow, lock it away in the safe in his study like a genuine Da Vinci canvas, he would. Instead he only smiled a little shyly and said “I’d like for you to wear that, Credence.”


	9. Chapter 9

“This is so nice, Mr Graves.” Credence didn’t quite dare to touch the sweater; it even _looked_ soft, and very expensive. “I don’t deserve--”

Graves held up his hand and gave him a stern look. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Credence,” he chided in a warm voice completely at odds with the words. “You deserve the best, _the very best,_ of everything!”

Credence couldn’t help look longingly into Mr Graves’ eyes then. He wondered whether his thoughts might broadcast what he didn’t dare say out loud: ‘Does that mean I deserve you, Mr Graves?’

Graves’ eyes widened, and he swallowed visibly and Credence thought that, maybe, he had heard his thoughts.

“Thank you so much,” Credence whispered. The response was a soft croak which made him smile, and he gently lifted the garment and held it to his face. It was soft, like kitten fur, fittingly enough, and he sighed and closed his eyes.

“Credence…” Graves’ voice was dreamy. He took the empty box from him, clutching it as if it were a shield. “To see you wearing it, and to see you _enjoy_ wearing it, is all the thanks I need.”

Biting his lip, Credence nodded. “I’ll put it on right now, yes?”

“Yes.” Mr Graves shifted back a little, likely to let him get past to go to the guest room and change.

However, Credence was too eager to realise that at the time. He was desperate to try on his gift and please Mr Graves. He smiled at him, reached for the hem of his well-worn sweater, and pulled it up over his head and off, then immediately slid his arms into the new cashmere sweater and raised them, letting the soft, smooth fabric slide over his face and neck and down his bare torso.

The sound of the box falling to the floor was what alerted him first that something had perturbed Mr Graves, right before he met his eyes, staring at him out of an unusually flushed face. The man’s mouth had dropped open in… shock, Credence assumed, and he realised.

“Oh! I’m sorry, Mr Graves, I should have gone away to get changed.” He blushed. “I was in such a hurry, I never thought--”

“That’s quite… quite all right, Credence!” Graves croaked. “I’m… pleased you’re so eager.” He reached for the nearest pillow and clutched it to himself, as if he needed to cling to something in lieu of the box, giving Credence a nervous smile.

Credence was flushed scarlet, which he assumed looked terrible with the red sweater, but he couldn’t help feeling horrified at his own rudeness--half-stripping in the middle of Mr Graves’ living room!

A couple of minutes went by with the two of them avoiding each other’s eyes and clearing their throats, before Credence felt it was high time he either bolted from the room or expressed his gratitude for the gift. “This feels wonderful, Mr Graves. So soft.” He ran his right hand up and down his left arm, stroking the red wool as gently as if it was Kowalski’s fuzzy head.

“D-does… uh… does it?” Mr Graves still hadn’t regained control over his voice. He gulped and said hurriedly, almost as if he didn’t want to think too hard about the words before saying them, “It looks... lovely on you… Credence.” He made an attempt at a chuckle, but it sounded like a husky cough. “With you in this, and Kowalski in his new matching collar, you’ll be casting spells all over the place.”

Credence blinked at him and looked, really _looked,_ at the expression on Mr Graves' face, and at the way he fidgeted and flushed and stared at him… _adoringly,_ was the only word to come to mind. Something he’d read earlier in the day came back to him.

_Thoughtful gifts are a lovely way to express your affection._

“Mr Graves…” he whispered, shifting a little closer until their knees touched. His heart was pounding now, and his throat dry.

_Encourage innocent touch to express your desire for physical intimacy._

“Mr Graves, would you like to feel for yourself?”

“Feel?” Graves was breathing hard, his eyes moving somewhat desperately over Credence’s face, his neck, then resting on the warm red material encasing his upper body. He clutched the sofa pillow harder.

“Yes.” Credence smiled nervously and reached for his right hand, unclenching it from the pillow and placing it on his own shoulder as if it belonged there. When it just remained there, while Mr Graves looked at him helplessly, he gathered up all his courage and said, “It feels _so_ good, Mr Graves.”

“Credence…” Graves leaned close then, his eyes looking darker than ever, but so soft. His hand squeezed Credence’s shoulder gently, then moved slowly down his arm, caressing the sleeve and, by extension, the shivering skin underneath.

Credence hardly dared to breathe. The softness of the material seemed to amplify the gentle stroking, and he gasped when Mr Graves’ beautiful hand reached his wrist and… kept going, moving over the back of his hand and sliding under it to lift it. He watched in helpless, breathless wonder as his hand was lifted to Mr Graves’ lips and _kissed._

Their eyes met and held, while each knuckle received its own sweet, tender kiss.

When Credence’s hand was released, Mr Graves moved a little closer still, his hand touching the centre of his chest. Credence was sure he must feel the pounding of his heart, because he let his palm linger over it for long moments before moving it up to the edge of the V-neck, where he hesitated, briefly.

“It does feel good, Credence,” Mr Graves told him in a soft, husky tone. “_You_ feel good… you miraculous, charming, beautiful boy.” His arm moved around Credence’s waist, palm warm in the small of his back. 

Credence whimpered, feeling as if he might simply melt from the warm affection in Mr Graves’ voice. He closed his eyes when smooth fingertips moved from cashmere to skin, sliding tenderly up the space between his collarbones and to the side of his neck. He tilted his head when his cheek was cupped and breathed, “Mr Graves…”

“Percival,” came the gentle correction, whispered against his lips an instant before they were kissed with almost painful tenderness.

***

Credence was right, the sweater was soft… but by god, his lips were even softer. For a moment, Graves' free hand hovered over the pulse at the base of Credence's throat before he slid it upwards to tangle in his dark hair. 

Without any prompting, the boy's lips parted underneath his with a little sigh and Graves carefully pressed his tongue into the gap, letting out a soft groan to finally be able to do this. They were kissing--he was _kissing_ Credence, and the sofa may as well have become a flying magic carpet, it felt so damn good. 

"_Ohhh Credence…_" He breathed the words out as they briefly parted for air, only to resume the kiss even more hungrily, biting gently once or twice at the plush bottom lip (sweet and tender as ripe berries). 

Credence made a faint wounded sound and leaned steadily further into Graves' space on the couch, until he was (or at least nearly would be) right in his lap, if the pillow still hadn't been there where Graves left it. A steadying hand at the boy's waist found its way beneath the hem of the soft red sweater quickly enough, and hot skin pressed eagerly against his palm. 

Graves ran his hand up the ladder of his trembling ribs, swiping his thumb over a pert nipple as he chased the boy's tongue with his own. Credence made a startled sound which melted into a shivering moan, and so Graves did it again, this time circling round with the pad of his thumb until Credence was _squirming_ beneath his hand.

They were both panting. "Mr Gr-- _Percival_," Credence whispered into the (meager) space between their mouths. His slim arms came up around Graves' shoulders, cashmere tickling at the back of his neck, fingers carding gently through his close-cropped hair. Just as quickly, the boy seemed to change his mind, instead reaching one hand between them to push at the pillow and try to lift it away. Graves had a mind to let him, at least for a second or two and then… 

"Percival," Credence whimpered, and Graves forced himself to still. He'd gone about this _all wrong_. Credence was sweet and pliant in his arms, soft as a kitten and so, so _yielding_. So obedient, making sure to say his name the way he'd asked, wanting to please him…

"Credence, Credence hang on," he pulled back, nearly gasping it out even as he held him still with both hands. One of those hands was still nestled underneath his shirt, and he slowly moved it away to safety, using it instead to hold the pillow firmly in his lap. 

“What’s wrong?” Credence asked mournfully, still dazed and kiss-drunk, eyes half closed.

"I think-- I think it's best we take things a little slower just now. I don't want you thinking I brought you into my home with any kind of expectations, and it's only fair you be given some time to really know how you feel. I'm afraid I may have quite overwhelmed you." 

Credence giggled a little even as he began to pout. "I think I'm enjoying being _overwhelmed_," he said.

Graves huffed a little laugh. "Yes, but. I don't think that would be entirely fair to you. I want you clear-headed. I certainly wasn’t planning on presenting you with a gift only to ravish you right on the couch, Credence."

Credence only raised his brows with a dreamy expression. “That sounds _wonderful,_” he breathed, listing slightly forward.

Graves braced him in his hands--only to sigh, shoulders dropping as he pulled the boy in for a (hopefully chaste, if he could behave himself) cuddle. Credence snuggled in against his chest gratefully, and Graves kissed the top of his head, noting how mussed his sweet-smelling hair had become after only a couple of minutes worth of being pawed at. He felt so good in his arms finally, so _right_\--it seemed more than ever important that Graves make him understand. 

“Credence, I-- ” (god, he was never good at this) “I like you so, so much… and I want you around, in my life, for more than just a week. I’d hate for you to think that this was still just something temporary, I’m not… not like that. Not with you.”

When Credence raised his head and looked up at his face with such adoring wonder, Graves swallowed. He was determined to be chivalrous here, but by god, self-denial had never been his strong point. This wasn’t going to be easy, taking it easy.

“You do?” Credence asked softly. “You… like me? And we’ll see each other even after the kittens arrive?”

It shocked Graves a little, to see how amazed the boy looked at such a simple revelation. More than anything then, he needed to reassure that ‘taking advantage’ of him in some sort of brief dalliance was the furthest thing in his mind. Even still, he couldn’t resist leaning down and grazing those kiss-stung lips with his own. He was so happy, _genuinely_ happy--he’d finally gotten it off his chest. The kiss deepened inevitably, and he let it… until Credence let out a moan that seared right through him. ‘This is a dangerous game you’re playing here,’ he thought to himself, pulling away from the kiss with a pang of regret. The boy was going to be the death of him.

“Credence,” he gasped out. 

“Yes… Percival?” Credence answered with a little smile at being given the use of his first name.

“Have you… have you ever played Monopoly?” Graves asked. 

“What?” Credence’s little frown was just about the cutest thing he’d ever seen (but he wouldn’t be telling Queenie that).

“Uh… yeah, Monopoly. I was thinking... let’s have a board game night.”

Credence only stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown a second set of ears. “.... Board game night?” he asked.

***

Having learned how to play Monopoly a mere hour earlier, Credence felt a little triumphant about the fact that he was absolutely _trouncing_ Percival, considering they could, and _should_, be doing far better things right then.

Percival… he smiled to himself at being allowed to use that beautiful name now… Percival who, while Credence owned hotels and houses on well over half the board, to say nothing of every train station and utility, was himself the not-so-proud owner of $25 and a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card--which he was unlikely to use, considering jail was his only refuge from Credence’s real estate emporium.

The best part was the reason why Percival was losing so spectacularly: not five minutes went by without him leaning his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, looking dreamily at Credence without paying the slightest attention to the game.

“I’m buying Park Place,” Credence would tell him, and Percival--who was the banker--would hand him the property card with a smile, taking whatever bills Credence gave him for it. It occurred to Credence that he could have bought Boardwalk for $1.

“You’re staring at me again,” he told Percival, smiling and blushing.

“I can’t help myself,” Percival admitted with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” Credence worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I just wish you’d kiss me instead.”

Percival, whose eyes had tracked the way his teeth sank into the red flesh, moaned softly. “Oh Credence, don’t tempt me.”

Credence dropped the property card on the pile of his other possessions and stood from the 2-seater he’d been nudged into for distance, then he walked around the table.

Percival moved back as if startled or afraid of him, and Credence sighed, walked past him, and went to the kitchen. “There’s cake left. Which one do you want?

Percival blinked. “P-plum, please.”

Credence gave him a sweet smile across the room while he placed two pieces of plum cake on the same plate, then brought it back with him and approached Percival on the sofa.

“That’s too much… or… uh, Credence, where’s your plate?”

Credence was still smiling at him. “We’re sharing, Percival.” He stopped immediately in front of Percival--who leaned back, then rested one knee at a time on each side of him, nearly unbalancing and dropping the cake in his lap.

“What… what are you doing?” Percival, whose hands had automatically moved to Credence’s hips to steady him, swallowed hard. He stared up at him, and gasped when Credence lowered himself onto his lap.

“I’m bringing you cake, but I require a kiss in exchange for each bite.”

With Credence actually sitting on him, Percival seemed to have trouble thinking, or arguing, or being reasonable. Instead of pushing him off, he nodded as if hypnotised.

Credence speared a piece of cake with the fork and ate it, then separated the next piece and leaned close. “Kiss me.”

Percival’s mouth was on his at once, with gentle pressure, before he quickly leaned back again. 

The fork was held in front of Percival’s mouth. “Open up.”

Percival obeyed, closing his mouth over the cake. His eyes held Credence’s while the fork was withdrawn, and then he chewed.

Credence ate another piece, licking his lips lavishly afterwards.

This time, Percival groaned softly and kissed him without prompting, chasing after the sweet plum flavour and crumbs. His hands were on Credence’s lower back, thumbs absently caressing his waist, as he took the next piece off the fork and ate it.

Credence watched him, then took his next piece, meeting Percival’s mouth halfway before he had even quite finished chewing.

“Oh god, Credence,” was whispered against his lips.

This kiss was deeper, hungrier than all the ones before, and neither of them noticed the plate tipping over sideways and falling from Credence’s grasp as his hands moved around Percival’s neck. He was held close, arms tight around him, whimpering when he felt Percival hard against him. 

The sound interrupted the kiss, but only for it to relocate, with Percival’s mouth latching on to his neck, his tongue lapping at his skin between kisses. Credence’s head dropped back and his eyes closed. He could come like this, and he knew he would, but then the kisses slowed down to helpless panting against his wet skin and soft, whispered endearments.

“I want you to sleep on this, sweetheart,” Percival told him, his lips once again at the corner of Credence’s mouth. “That’s all I ask.”

Credence grumbled discontentedly.

“You’re making this so hard for me,” Percival sighed.

Unable to help himself, Credence giggled--soft huffs of breath against Percival’s cheek, and Percival joined him a couple of seconds later.

“What a coquette you are,” Percival laughed. “I can’t believe--” He pushed him back a little, his eyes widening as he looked around.

“What’s wrong, Percival?”

“Where did the cake go?”

As if on cue, Queenie meowed over on the afghan and, twisting his neck to look over his shoulder, his weight shifting on Percival’s lap in a way that made them both gasp, Credence looked across the room, where Queenie licked delicately at a piece of plum while Kowalski chewed on a sizable piece he was pushing back and forth between his paws.

“Oh no!” Credence cried out, in a panic over how badly Kowalski had probably stained the rug with the piece of cake. Then he looked down to the sofa beside them and the upturned plate and what was left of the cake. “Percival, I’m so--”

Percival, who had followed his line of sight, from the cats to the cake disaster beside them, was laughing until his eyes began to water, yet he was looking up at Credence as if his awful clumsiness was somehow… endearing? 

“Percival…” Credence frowned. “It’s such a mess! I wish I could just sink into the floor.”

“That would only bring you down to the 21st and, believe me, they don’t deserve you down there.” Still laughing, Percival told him, to his amazement, “You’re wonderful, you know that? And so is your menace of a cat.” He caressed his pink cheek tenderly.

“Really?” Credence beamed at him.

“Really,” Percival confirmed. He somehow got them both up on their feet. “Now, I’m going to clean up this little mishap, and then we’re going to get ready for bed.”

Credence beamed at him.

“I for mine, and you for yours,” he was told with a smile. “Oh no, we’ll have no pouting.” He pulled Credence into his arms, holding his head pressed to the side of his neck. “This… you and me… isn’t going anywhere, darling. I’ll want you just as badly tomorrow as I do now, if you’re still sure then.”

Credence clung to him, smiling to himself. “I will be, Percival.”


	10. Chapter 10

It was autumn, and still somehow Graves’ room was stifling. He knew it had to be all in his head--he was only pining for Credence, who was (hopefully) sound asleep in the next room. Even still, he’d tossed and turned for likely a couple of hours now, kicking off the covers, unable to find the cool side of the pillow. He got up and opened the window a crack, letting in a sliver of frigid air, and rather than remind him of how cold it actually really was at this time of year, he found the chilliness pleasantly bracing. He sat at the edge of the bed and undid the buttons of his pyjama top, letting the air cool his overheated skin. He wasn’t going to get a wink of sleep with that boy in his apartment, not now that he knew the taste of his lips and the sound of his soft little sighs. Not now that he knew he was _wanted_ in return just as badly. 

It would be so easy to just leave the room and go to him, climb under the red sheets and kiss him awake… _have_ him in the middle of the night, all soft and sleepy…. 

He had to get out of this room. Not to do what he’d been thinking of (though god, it would take all his strength), but simply to pace about the living room, or… or _something_. Anything to let off some of this tension, and then maybe, hopefully, sleep would finally have mercy on him. Suddenly, he felt a terrible thirst--most likely he’d already sweated out a quarter of his body’s moisture burning up from inside there in his room. The wine at dinner certainly hadn’t helped, he was sure. Discarding his satin pyjama top over the mussed bedsheets (he could still use some cooling down), he crept out of his room and down the hall towards the kitchen. 

Queenie trilled a soft greeting from up high on her scratching post, sounding a touch perplexed and more than a little curious to see him there at such a late hour. It might seem a bit odd to say that Graves could read so much into the small sound, but Queenie had been his only companion for some time now, and he knew her habits just as well as she seemed to know his. 

Graves found he liked the look of his place, bathed in moonlight as it was; for a moment, he caught himself casting a longing look towards the hall, thinking how much Credence would likely enjoy it as well, if the stargazing had been any indication. There was something poetic about the boy, the calm and thoughtful air of an artist, or perhaps a writer-- 

He needed to stop this. Imagining Credence as a poet or an exiled prince or any other fanciful and romantic notion certainly wasn’t going to help him to calm down, at this rate. He went to the cupboard and took a glass, then stood before the fridge and filled it halfway with ice from the dispenser before he pressed the water button above the spout. There--that should do something--if not tame his unrest, it should at least pass a few moments feeling that he’d taken some sort of action. He stood next to the kitchen island, half leaned against it and gulping the water down as though he’d been stranded 18 days in the desert--and then he heard a sound. 

***

Credence rubbed his eyes on the way to the living area, which was why he didn’t immediately see the cause of the clattering sounds that had finally drawn him from his room. He’d had a short, fitful sleep, but had been awake for a while, and the sounds made him worry that, maybe, Kowalski was causing yet more mayhem in the living room.

Kowalski, as it happened, was moonbathing peacefully on the afghan, giving him a curious look when he came out. But it hadn’t been Kowalski who’d made the noise.

Credence stared across the kitchen island at Percival, meeting eyes which were already on him.

“Credence…” Percival’s hand was so tight around a glass of ice water, it was a miracle he didn’t crush it. “Did I wake you up?”

Shaking his head, Credence didn’t even try to speak. His throat had gone so dry at the sight in front of him, he was tempted to make a dash for that glass of water. Or, better yet, the man holding it.

“I was… thirsty. Too hot, you know.” Percival seemed to feel the need to explain his night time presence in his own kitchen.

Credence moved further forward, unable to tear his eyes away from Percival’s bare upper body--toned and chiseled like that of a marble statue, without being bulky; his skin seemed to gleam in the silvery moonlight caressing every plane and angle.

“Do you… do you want some water too?” Percival was asking, his voice a little higher than usual.

Smiling, Credence shook his head again. He walked around the kitchen island and, seeing that Percival wore nothing but a pair of low-riding black satin pyjamas pants, elegant bare feet poking out, made a soft little sound of need.

“Credence?” Percival started backing away, still clutching the glass.

“Percival… it’s not that hot.”

“It… it _is_!” Percival insisted, and kept backing around the kitchen island. “Um… Credence, it’s not morning yet.”

Credence giggled softly. “You told me to sleep on it. I have slept, Percival.”

“You have?” Frowning, Percival demanded, if somewhat shakily, “for how long?”

“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me how long I had to sleep on it.”

“But… Credence!” Percival had gone right around and to the dining area, where he backed into one of the chairs, still pulled out from dinner, and fell awkwardly onto the seat with a wince.

Credence was right there, looking down at him. He knew Percival was surprised when he circled him and stopped behind the chair. “You look so tense, Percival. Is that why you couldn’t sleep?”

Percival sucked in a deep breath when Credence’s hands came to rest on his bare shoulders, close to his neck. “Ma-maybe… yes?”

Credence leaned down and whispered in Percival’s ear, making sure his lips just touched the shell. “I know what you need.”

Percival moaned. “God, so do I.”

Credence’s soft laugh came out a little shaky. “Oh, wait!” he said, then hurried into the kitchen, where he did something just out of Percival’s line of vision; it sounded like a bottle being opened and closed. He returned, rubbing his hands--to Percival’s confusion, and at once started to knead the firm, warm skin under his palms. 

Percival’s surprised gasp turned into another moan when the oil-coated hands started to massage him.

“Do you like this?”

“Mmm…” Percival did, actually, relax into the massage then, the tightness in his neck and shoulder area slowly melting away under Credence’s long, agile fingers. “That feels… ungh! That’s wonderful, Credence.”

Credence had to close his eyes for a moment. To feel Percival’s skin under his hands, and to hear him, nearly made him moan, too. To watch his own touch on him… to watch the way he slowly relaxed into the chair… the way he widened his legs after a particularly pleasurable moan when a knot at the base of his neck seemed to simply dissolve under Credence’s fingertips… it was quickly becoming too much.

“Is there anything you’re not good at, sweetheart?” Percival’s voice had gone low and sensuous. 

“Many things, I’m sure,” Credence murmured, “but I want to learn _everything_ you want to teach me.”

***

'Oh God,' Graves thought, as soon as he heard Credence say those words. He'd really had no idea the boy could be this… this _forward_. 

“Credence, have you… have you ever been with a ma- ” 

“I haven’t really been with _anyone_, Percival, to be honest.” 

Graves swallowed at that. That possessive, prize-winning nature in him reared up in his gut with a feeling like triumph. How could he have ever known that something like the unwanted complication of a pregnant cat would bring this absolute _treasure_ into his life? “Oh, I’m not strong enough for this,” he breathed. 

Credence’s hands stilled on his shoulders and he felt the cool brush of the boy’s long hair against his skin as he leaned closer to his ear again. “I don’t want you to be strong,” he said. “I know _I’m_ tired of trying to be strong all the time, and I think we can be very good to each other. I… I want to be soft for you, Percival.” To illustrate his point, he placed the tenderest of kisses against the side of Graves’ overheated neck, and this time, Graves didn’t try to hide the way it affected him--the tenting of the satin sleep pants, the low moan. 

“Come _here_,” he gritted out, firmly and with clear decision. 

Credence fairly scrambled around the chair to face him, already breathing hard. When Graves placed his hands at either side of the boy’s hips and lightly urged him forward, he climbed eagerly to straddle him on the chair, wrapping his arms around his oiled shoulders without a care. This time, when they kissed there was no withholding, no concern for propriety or whether it all made sense--just relishing the mutual realisation that they’d _somehow_ found each other. “Percival, I _want_ you,” Credence pleaded against his mouth between kisses with a little frown, as though he were afraid Graves might still insist they think it through. But Graves was done with thinking, for once in his life. This wasn’t a _thinking_ kind of situation. 

“I want you too, baby,” he gasped back, “_so_ so badly. God, I’m scared I’ll hurt you if I get too caught up here… I can’t just _take_ you…” 

“M-- maybe you could?” Credence raised his brows hopefully. “I think I can handle it,” he added, this time with a little more forced confidence despite the tiny gulp as he said the words. 

Graves huffed a laugh and pressed their foreheads together. “No, love. I’m not a brute. You said you wanted me to teach you--” 

Both their heads jostled as Credence nodded eagerly. Graves kissed him again and took his time with it, licking slowly into his mouth, letting him feel his hardness underneath the slippery satin. Credence shivered and moaned, sounding like he might honestly be close to something crucial already, even untouched. Graves suspected--no, he was _certain_\--no one had ever wanted him quite like this. He grabbed Credence's pert bottom in both hands to pull him forward and hold him still… and then pressed their aching lengths together in a slow, agonizing grind. 

“Oh! _Huh…_ oh _god_!” Credence clung to him so tight, struggling to rock against him in the chair despite the firmness of his grip. Yes--definitely close, too close to resist. Graves was panting hard in his excitement, leaning back in the kitchen chair to catch the boy’s eyes. 

“You want this?” he asked. “Oh Credence, baby, are you gonna come for me?” 

“Ohh _please_, yes,” Credence sobbed out. “I-- I can’t…” 

“Shhh, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Graves hushed, before he took hold with intention and _thrust_ forward. God, the _sounds_ the boy made. In that moment, Graves wasn’t certain that he wouldn’t come right along with him. 

“God, Percival, _yes_...” Credence was keening into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life and squirming so hard within his grip--in pursuit of the pleasure to be found there--that the rear legs of the chair were threatening to lift. Graves planted his bare feet steady against the lacquered floors and pushed himself into the cradle of Credence’s rocking hips again and again, feeling the boy shudder and whimper against him, electric as a live wire. He knew then that he wouldn’t be able to hold back, either--as soon as he felt Credence _throb_ against him, there was no pulling back from the brink. 

“Percival, Per-- oh you’re so good you’re so… _ohhhh oh my god_” Credence was babbling nonsense now, wet warmth blooming out across the front of his flannel sleep pants. 

“Ah, _baby_!” Graves let out his own sharp cry, holding Credence hard enough to bruise as he came. It felt like he was giving everything he had, on and on with Credence settling limply against him, sighing. 

For a long moment, they could only breathe in the stillness afterwards, panting and swallowing loudly. After it seemed they’d had a chance to catch up to themselves, Graves turned his head and kissed the tangled hair now shining with the oil he’d clean forgotten all about. 

“Let’s take a bath, sweetheart,” he said. 

***

Credence was still half breathless when he was led into the bathroom by his hand. He watched Percival’s every move as he began to fill the tub and, after a soft smile and instructions to wait for him, disappeared, only to return within minutes bearing a candelabra he placed on the footstool at the far end of the large bath. He lit the candles--half a dozen of them--and turned off the room light, leaving them both bathed in a soft, golden glow.

“May I undress you?” Percival asked, caressing Credence’s cheek with his knuckles.

Nodding, Credence obediently held his arms out to his sides, allowing Percival to unbutton his pyjama top. Even by candlelight, the admiration in Percival’s eyes was plain to see, and he blushed under the appreciative gaze.

“Can you really be mine…” Percival swallowed, “... to unwrap like a gift, I mean?” He looked almost fearful at Credence’s reaction.

“Yes, I am,” Credence whispered, stepping forward just as Percival pushed the pyjama top off his shoulders, and the fabric tumbled to the floor. He pressed close, and they were skin to skin, and one arm went around his waist even as Percival tugged impatiently at his waistband, pushing the loose pants off his narrow hips easily. He mirrored the gesture at once, and held onto Percival’s hips the moment the satin had slipped down his legs.

“You’ll see steam coming out of my ears before we’re even in the water,” Percival cautioned, but did nothing to stop Credence’s warm, sticky form pressing against his own naked skin.

Giggling, Credence leaned in to kiss his cheek, slightly stubbled as it was, and whispered, “I’d like to see that.”

“Hmm.” Percival’s chuckle was low and warm. “I’d like to see _you_, baby.” He pushed Credence back just far enough to let his gaze drop, and growled softly.

Credence blushed at the sound, and his expression, when Percival met his eyes again.

“You’re just perfect in every way, aren’t you?”

Credence got no further than to open his mouth to protest he was nothing of the sort, but he squawked in surprise instead when Percival lifted him over the side of the tub and stood him in the water. 

“Sit,” Percival instructed softly, and Credence lowered himself into the soothing heat at once, holding onto the sides. He stared breathlessly as Percival climbed in to join him, flushing at the sight before him and chewing his lip nervously.

“Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.” Percival winked at him. “If anything, I should be worried.”

Credence grinned but ducked his head in embarrassment.

Percival kneeled between his legs and leaned over him, supporting himself with his hands on the rim either side of Credence’s shoulders. “You’re so sweet, you don’t even know how beautiful you are, do you?” Percival murmured against his lips, kissing them before Credence could answer.

He could, however, return the kiss enthusiastically, and cling to Percival, and, within moments, they were pressed together in the steaming water, exploring each other’s mouths hungrily. 

Percival only just turned off the water before it started pouring over the side, before his elegant hands returned to exploring Credence’s every curve and line, holding him close even while they rolled onto their sides, facing each other.

Credence was panting, the luxury of an actual hot bath, even by candlelight, eclipsed by the luxury of Percival’s full attention on him, his adoring eyes looking him over between kisses and caresses as if he was afraid Credence might suddenly vanish in a puff of smoke.

Nothing in the world was further from his mind than to get away from Percival. It almost scared him how much he wanted to be allowed to stay. 

***

Graves was nearly scared about it, how badly he wanted Credence… and wanted him to stay. Dressing him up, _un_dressing him, kissing his sweet smiling mouth with the bath foam still clinging to his hair like drifts of cloud--he wanted this every single day. So badly it made his chest feel tight. 

"Credence," he murmured, once he'd gotten a chance to catch his breath between kisses. "I've… I've always considered myself lucky in life, for obvious reasons, but…"   
He reached up, fingering a dark curl, wet and glossy as a black ribbon. "I'm not sure I really understood before now, what it means to feel truly lucky. Not like this, with you here in my home." He knew he was beginning to flush, with the heartfelt words and the way Credence's eyes softened as he said them. "With you in my _arms_," he added, pulling Credence back into his slippery embrace and feeling every muscle in his body unwind at the sound of his soft answering sigh.


	11. Chapter 11

With the warmth of the bath, and the (earth shattering) orgasm (honestly, when was the last time it was like _that_?), not to mention the sweet relief of being honest with Credence… and kissing Credence, and holding Credence…. Graves hated to admit it, but he was beginning to grow drowsy. 

Credence was languishing in the water, stretched out between Graves’ knees with his back pressed to Graves’ chest, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the boy was growing a bit sleepy himself--and likely for the same reasons. “I think it’s almost time to make our way to bed, baby,” he murmured against Credence’s ear, where his hair curled damp and fragrant. 

The water sloshed against the sides of the tub as he stirred--Graves had been right, he’d been drifting. Even still, he groaned a soft sound of protest. “I don’t want to say goodnight to you again yet,” he pouted. 

Graves frowned, trying to put together the conclusion Credence had seemed to come to. “You mean, you don’t want to sleep? I’ll be right there in bed next to you…” 

Credence shifted half onto his side between Graves’ legs, twisting to look up into this face with eyes wide. “You mean… I’m staying in bed with you? In _your_ bed now?” 

Graves tilted his head with a smile, regarding him for a moment. “Well, if it’s okay with you, that’s certainly how _I’d_ like to do things.” Credence was already struggling to finish his turn-about in the water, reaching to put his arms around Graves’ slippery shoulders. He steadied the boy in his hands and laughed as he finally managed it, holding him close and sliding his hand up and down the length of his side underneath the water. “I’m not sending you back to that other room, baby,” he reassured. “And…. come to think of it, I really don’t think I’m going to be much in the mood to go into work tomorrow after such a late night. Or should I say, _today_.” 

“Really?” By the look on his face, you’d think he’d just told Credence his birthday had come ahead of time. “We can spend the whole day together?” 

“The whole day.” Graves couldn’t help beaming back at him. It wasn’t just a simple thing, now that he thought of it--there was nothing more wonderful he could imagine than spending a whole day with Credence and the cats. “After we _sleep_,” he added with emphasis. 

It might seem odd that he enjoyed towelling Credence off as much as he did, but with the boy all clean and sleepy, holding onto Graves for balance as he lifted each foot and giggling at the way the towel occasionally tickled against his skin--Graves was essentially in heaven. He had always loved the feeling of taking special care of his valuable things, Queenie foremost among them, and while Credence was neither a _thing_, nor was he a possession (and neither was Queenie, for that matter), he found the ‘taking care’ part definitely applied. And with a much greater sense of reward--because already he knew there was nothing of more value, or more worthy of care in his life than Credence (and Queenie, of course).

He couldn't help but stop every few moments to kiss him again… and again. It wasn't long until Credence was clinging to him in a whole different sort of way, breath coming short between needy sounds. Despite how tired they both were, they were equally hard and Graves knew then that neither would be sleeping soundly until something had been done about it--a second time.

"_Percival_…" Credence softly pleaded, chasing after his kiss. 

"Shhh, I know love, I know. Let's get you into bed and I'll take care of you." Credence hadn't needed any more reassurance than that, stumbling along almost drunkenly towards Graves' room, still ensconced in the fluffy towel. 

As soon as they were through the door, Credence sat at the end of the large bed, (very) eagerly waiting. There was no novice attempt at posing seductively this time, and no need for it--Graves had never seen anything as inviting as Credence, naked and blushing on his bed with kiss-swollen lips, all for him. He paused to take in the sight just long enough to let out another appreciative growl. 

"I want you," Credence softly begged, reaching for him from his perch. 

"I'll be right with you, baby," Graves answered, feeling Credence's eyes on him as he crossed the room and opened the bedside drawer. He could sense the boy's excitement, the understanding of what it was he was retrieving and what it might mean. When he returned to the end of the bed, dropping his own towel down to the floor and setting the unopened bottle of lube onto the bedspread, Credence was trembling. His cock was deeply flushed, standing at rigid attention and already steadily leaking again, but his eyes never left the sight of Graves standing between his spread knees. Just like in the kitchen, this wasn't going to take long.

"One more time, and then bed for real," Graves said, stepping forward to kiss him tenderly. 

"Yes," Credence answered, something so sweetly agreeable in his manner it made Graves positively glow.

“Move on up the bed a little,” Graves urged, climbing up between his legs with Credence watching avidly the whole time, breath steadily quickening. His hands were fisting in the sheets with anticipation when the soft _click_ of the bottle cap being opened sounded up from down near his feet. 

"Now, I'm not going to go all the way here," Graves warned, "just like I said back in the kitchen. But there are some things we can start… getting you accustomed to." 

"O- okay," Credence whispered, no longer seeking to argue it, only desperately eager to experience whatever Graves was willing to give. At the first gentle touch of Graves’ slickened fingertips against his opening, he sighed and then moaned brokenly in his comprehension. “Oh, Percival, your hands…. your _beautiful_ hands…” 

“God, Credence, I love hearing you come apart for me like this,” Graves crooned, slowly circling round the tight pink bud with the pad of his finger, watching it flutter and clench. He rose slightly on his knees and leaned forward to lick a long stripe up the length of Credence’s cock, groaning in time with him. Everything about Credence was perfect, a work of art--and his thick, sturdy length filled Graves’ mouth as though it were made to fit exactly there. 

Whimpering, Credence chased the heat of his mouth with shallow little thrusts, his stomach taut and quivering. “Draw your knees up to your chest, baby,” Graves directed, watching him relinquish his grip on the bedspread to hurriedly obey. As soon as he’d done so, Graves took him back into his mouth and, at the sound of his stuttered moan, slipped his circling fingertip further in.

“Ah! _Yes_,” Credence gasped out, trying his best to both rock himself down further onto Graves’ hand even as he thrust up into his mouth with just as much urgency. Within moments, Graves had the full length of one digit curling up into the tight, gripping heat. 

“Percival, _ungh_... more…” 

The heat of the bath, or the earlier orgasm… or perhaps just pure _need_ itself had Credence opening up to him with an ease Graves hadn’t expected. Another finger slid in beside the first, and he held Credence’s gaze as he curved and thrust them both at a calculated angle, still suckling greedily over the head of his cock. The flush of the boy’s cheeks spread all the way down into the dark hair curling at his chest, and when Graves found the spot he’d been seeking, his jaw dropped open on a high keen. 

“That’s it sweetheart, there we go,” Graves panted, hair spilling down into his eyes. “Let me hear you feel good.” 

Credence’s cries were guttural and wordless, and infinitely more expressive for it. The sound alone might be enough to pull Graves down with him, if it weren’t for the mere sight of him as well--flushed and shuddering underneath him on the bed, hands tucked below his own knees, holding tight. After a long and trembling pause like the moment before a clap of thunder rolls out through the clouds, Credence came, spilling hot and bitter over Graves’ tongue. He caught it sloppily, some escaping to dribble down his chin, but Graves didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but Credence--his taste, his scent, his sweet and loving soul. Graves gripped himself and throbbed against his own palm as he swallowed, spurting out over the pristine sheets with a moan, and he didn’t care about that, either. 

***

Credence tried not to fall asleep. He wanted to remain fully aware all night… of where he lay, and in whose arms… of how warm and comforted he felt with Percival’s body curled around him--Percival’s breath caressing his skin with a soft tickle and stirring the curls at the back of his neck. As soon as he was in danger of drifting off, he turned in the strong arms and snuggled into Percival’s chest, and the embrace tightened around him. The sheets were pulled up over their naked forms. He smiled when he felt Percival’s lips against his temple, humming as if soothing him to sleep. So he allowed it.

When he woke up around dawn, the first thing he heard was Percival’s steady heart beat. His head was resting on the broad chest, and Percival’s arm was flung over his shoulder, the other around his middle. But Credence, too, had a weight resting on him above the blanket--gently, against the top of his foot. Peering down to the end of the bed, Credence focussed blearily on the curled up shape of Kowalski who, in turn, was wrapped around Queenie; they lay snuggled comfortably between Percival’s feet and his own. 

The soft giggle he couldn’t suppress woke Percival, who made a rumbling sound of pleasure and immediately drew him even closer.

“I thought I’d dreamed it all,” Percival said, sounding very pleased he hadn’t.

“No, it’s all real, including them,” Credence told him, heart thumping with happiness.

“Who?” Percival muttered sleepily, his eyes opening slowly, then widening. “Oh, the cheek of those two!” But he laughed along with Credence, careful not to shift and wake the slumbering cats.

Credence looked up into his eyes. “They did bring us together,” he pointed out softly.

Gentle fingers combed through his hair, tangled as it was from going to bed with it still wet. “So they did.” Percival smiled. “Wonderful cats.” He craned his neck to kiss Credence, then held him again. “A little more sleep, I think. By then, they’ll have moved, I hope, and we can say ‘good morning’ properly.”

Credence thought that was a good idea. He drifted off again in record time, never having slept anywhere nearly as safe or comfortable as in Percival’s arms.

The next time he woke up, Percival wasn’t beside him, and he panicked for a moment, before he smelled coffee and slightly singed toast. “Percival?” he called out as soon as he’d sat up, noting the cats had vacated the bed, probably assuming they’d got away with their night time cheekiness unobserved.

“Don’t get up! Wait right there,” came Percival’s voice from down the hallway.

Credence smiled and settled back down into the bed, sighing contentedly. He’d spent so much of the night sleeping on Percival’s chest, he only then became truly aware of the fluffy cloud of pillows surrounding him. He wondered if this was what angels felt like… sleeping on big puffy clouds, floating with no effort at all. 

Not that _he_ was any kind of angel!

He blushed at the memory of how wantonly he’d offered himself up to Percival on this bed, then moaned softly at the memory of how unbelievably _good_ Percival had made him feel--not only with his mouth and his fingers, but with the fact that just to do those things to him had made Percival come too. And, in an instant, Credence was hard again, right on cue for Percival’s appearance in the doorway bearing a tray.

“Percival,” he croaked.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Percival was wearing a different pair of pyjama pants--black and white stripes with a drawstring this time, and looking like cotton, hugging his hips loosely and just begging to be pulled off them.

Credence's mouth watered before he even fully took in that _Percival_ had made breakfast this time, _for him_. “Oh, but…” He sat up against the pillows.

“Nuh uh, no protesting. This is going to be nothing like your gourmet breakfasts, but even I can manage to scramble a couple of eggs and make some toast.” Percival looked a little sheepish. “I burned most of it, to be perfectly honest, but these slices should be okay, no?”

Credence smiled from ear to ear when the tray was set down on his lap. He couldn’t help but notice the pink orchid (from the conservatory?) in a tiny jar. “This is perfect, Percival!”

“You’re very generous.” Percival climbed into bed beside him and leaned in for a kiss so wide awake and indulgent, it nearly resulted in breakfast ending up on the sheets.

Credence, breathless and flustered, blinked at him. “No one’s ever made me breakfast before.”

Percival stroked his cheek and tucked a few wayward curls behind his ear. “Then I’m all the more sorry I didn’t have something stunning delivered.”

“Oh no, this is much better! I love that _you_ made this for me,” Credence admitted, blushing right up over his ears.

“You do?” Percival smiled at him. “Really?” 

He looked and sounded so pleased and proud, Credence wanted to pounce on him and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe, but all that lovely effort going into breakfast would have been wasted. So he just nodded. “Yes, really.”

Percival used the fork and ladled some scrambled egg, garnished basically but thoughtfully with a dry herb mix, onto a slice of toast and held it up to Credence’s mouth. “I suspect it’ll only be edible as long as it stays warm.”

Credence grinned, then parted his lips to take a bite of the eggy toast. “It’s delicious,” he said, once he had chewed and swallowed.

“So forgiving. You really are too sweet.” Percival kissed the crumbs from his lips and fed him the rest of the toast, never taking his eyes off Credence’s face and following each bite with a kiss.

“This is the best way to eat breakfast, with lots of kissing,” Credence told him, growing a little breathless.

“You think so?” Percival, too, was breathing hard by then. He felt the outside of the coffee mug and said, “This is still a bit hot. Why don’t we set this aside for now?” He didn’t wait for an answer beyond Credence’s quick nod, and set down the tray on the bedside table.

Before he knew what was happening, Credence found himself pressed back into the pillows. He gasped when Percival slipped under the sheets again, and right between his legs, moving against what had by then become an almost painful hardness; not that Percival was in a less desperate state.

“If this is what happens when I make you toast, I’m going to take a proper cooking class,” Percival panted against Credence’s neck while he shoved his own pyjama pants down as quickly as he could.

“Oh god, please…” Credence widened his legs around Percival’s hips, pushing up alongside the delicious pressure, both of them as hard as each other, sliding together. He was barely aware Percival was fumbling for the container of lube from the night before until a slick, sticky hand wrapped around them both, coating them generously.

“Fuck,” Percival breathed in his ear, and Credence could only moan when the hand let go and Percival began to thrust against him in earnest, his slippery hand moving around him and down, middle finger dipping between his arse cheeks.

“Unh… Per-Percival… _yes_… oh, so… so _good_.” Credence clung to him, the hot throbbing against his own cock, with no layers between them this time, almost more than he could stand, and it took no time at all before their thrusts grew uncoordinated, so slick that their flushed tips barely even dragged against each other, almost kissing each other instead, until finally…

“Baby…” Percival whispered brokenly, his fingertip just inside Credence as he thrust down once more, throbbing hard and spilling himself all over Credence’s cock and groin.

“Oooh...” Credence shivered at the sensation, and at the pleasure of his own release within a second or two of Percival’s.

***

They were like a couple of teenagers, rutting in the sheets and lasting all of 5 minutes, but Graves couldn't have been happier. Nor could he remember a time, ever in his life, that someone excited him so desperately. Not even when he _was_ a teenager. 

He pulled Credence close up against himself, heedless of the slippery mess between them. Well, _mostly_ heedless. "We're going to need another shower, sweetheart," he chuckled against Credence's jaw. "Just… just after I catch my breath. I'm an old man, you know." 

Credence giggled at that. "You're not _old_," he insisted. "And even if you were, you're so handsome it doesn't count." 

"_Flatterer_," Graves accused softly, before growing just slightly more serious. "Credence, I… this is so good. Having you, and Kowalski, here… taking care of you. And having you take care of me. Your cooking is certainly far more up to that challenge than my own is." He looked into Credence's face carefully and smiled to make sure he knew that last bit was mostly self-deprecating silliness, to take the edge off the nerves he felt at saying such heartfelt things. "But it's not about that, food or gifts, or… I don't know, _things_. I just find myself looking forward to coming home at the end of the day in a way that I don't think I ever have before." He gave an exaggerated glance over his shoulder then, towards the door, before looking back to Credence with a little twinkle in his eyes. "No offense to Queenie, of course. But maybe let's keep that last bit to ourselves." 

Credence spiralled into a fit of giggles over that. "Pinky swear," he said, "I won't get you busted." Then he cuddled in a little tighter and sighed contentedly. Graves was beginning to find it his new favourite sound. "Um, same, Percival," he said softly. "Everything you just said. I didn't know what to expect when I agreed to come here, but it certainly wasn't _this_. It's like a wonderful dream…" 

Graves took his chin between thumb and finger, kissed him gently and then held his gaze. "It's not a dream, Credence, I promise." 

There was that wonderful sigh again. They had a whole day ahead of them, just the two of them (and the cats), and Graves wanted to make that happy sound occur as often as he could. There was definitely _one_ way he could think of…. 

"You know what else isn't a dream?" he asked. 

"Hmmm?" Credence smiled dreamily with an open expression of curiosity. 

"This mess we've made. That's… that's definitely very real." 

Credence blushed and hid his face behind one hand, shaking with the giggles yet again. "Shower time?" he asked. 

"Yeah, definitely shower time."


	12. Chapter 12

The doorbell rang while they were feeding the cats, and Percival let in the doorman moments later. It was the one from before, the evening Credence had first arrived, and Credence blushed when he gave him a surprised, then knowing, look. No doubt he was thinking that this was a _very_ long lasting date.

“Courier delivery for you, Mr Graves.”

“Thanks, Higgins.” Percival tipped him and dismissed him, already opening the small box and presenting the contents to Credence with a smile.

“Is that the collar already?” Credence asked, surprised.

“It is. I requested express delivery.”

Credence beamed and took the pretty collar--tag already attached--from his fingers. He blushed at seeing Kowalski’s name and Percival’s phone number engraved on it in clear, deep script. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anything for you, and your little mischief maker.” Percival lifted his chin and kissed him and, just like earlier in the shower, they quite lost track of time for a good long while.

Dazed, Credence licked his lips, which nearly started them again. He turned away with a smile and crouched down. “Kowalski,” he called softly.

Kowalski looked at him and reluctantly abandoned the piece of food he’d been pushing back and forth across Percival’s nice lacquered floor, then galloped across the room. “Meow?”

“Look what Percival bought for you,” Credence told him, dangling the collar in front of him.

Kowalski reached out his paw to swat at it, and Credence laughed. He sat down, cross-legged, and lifted Kowalski to sit on his feet. Then he fastened the collar to his neck.

Percival sat down beside them, running a finger gently along the edge of the collar when Credence wondered out loud whether the collar was too tight or too loose. “It’s perfect,” he told him.

Kowalski seemed to agree, trying to spin in a circle to make the tiny bell ring.

“Say ‘thank you, Percival’,” Credence told him.

Kowalski leapt over his knee and, on his way back to Queenie, presumably to show off his new necklace, rubbed himself along Percival’s legs.

Laughing, Percival said, “That’s good enough.”

Credence reached around his neck and pulled himself closer to him, smiling when Percival’s arms moved around his waist. “He looks very pretty now.”

“Not half as pretty as you.” The way Percival’s eyes moved over him told him he meant every word. He got a calculating look in his eyes. “Far too lovely to keep locked up inside all week.”

Credence smiled. “But we can’t leave the cats.”

“We could take them with us, now.”

“Percival?” Credence blinked.

Looking as mischievous as Kowalski ever did, Percival smiled. “Let’s go out for a picnic, all four of us.”

Credence beamed at him. “Really? A proper picnic? Sitting under a tree on a blanket and everything?”

Laughing, Percival assured him, “Absolutely. A proper picnic. We’ll pick up a hamper on the way.”

“I can make us sandwiches!” Credence offered.

“Oh no, if I’m taking a day off, you’re certainly not going to do any work.”

“It’s not work.” Laughing, Credence moved to get up, but Percival held him back.

“Please, baby, indulge me. Let me pamper you.” The tenderness in Percival’s eyes and the soft purr of his voice, not to mention the offer, were irresistible.

Credence decided not to resist. 

***

Graves was grateful for having kept around an extra carrying case, from Queenie’s kitten days. Trying to crowd two cats into only the one might have proven a bit much, (even if Queenie’s kennels generally were of the roomy, luxury variety). As it was, Queenie was well accustomed to curling up obediently into her usual case once it was presented to her, but Kowalski required more than a little wrangling. His days of freedom, prowling around the Greenwich Village neighbourhood, had given him a wariness of anything looking like _confinement_, and it had taken Graves and Credence at least 15 minutes of chasing and cajoling (and a little bribery with a trail of kitty treats) before he was finally inside the case. 

“I’m sorry he’s so naughty,” Credence said, looking a little sheepish at how difficult the operation had proven, after Queenie’s stellar example. Graves only pulled him into his arms again, happy to kiss the blush of his cheeks. He was finding that, with Credence around, he didn’t mind all sorts of things that might have once irritated him. “I’ll have you know,” he whispered against Credence’s ear, feeling the blush make its way even there, “I can be quite partial to _naughtiness_, under the right circumstances.” 

“Oh,” Credence whispered, “um, really?” He sounded as though, after all of the struggling with Kowalski, he was close to suggesting they simply stay in for the day after all. 

“Oh yes,” Graves answered, “I’ll have to show you just what _kind_ of circumstances… right after we spend a lovely day at the park.” 

Credence nodded, then pressed his head against Graves’ shoulder and took a deep breath. “Yes… yes, of course.” When he glanced up to Graves’ face again, the heated look in his eyes had _Graves_ himself wondering if it might not be better to stay home. “Do you promise?” Credence asked, biting his lip. 

“I promise, baby,” Graves answered huskily. “We’d better get going, before I wind up showing you right on the living room sofa.” 

“I wouldn’t mind….” Credence whispered back, just as Kowalski let out a plaintive ‘meow,’ as if to say ‘get going, you two.’ It seemed he was beginning to realise he’d been somehow tricked.

“He probably thinks we’re taking him to the vet,” Credence said. “It’s usually the only time I put him in something like that.” 

“Well,” Graves mused, smirking as he jingled his house keys. “No wonder we had so much trouble with him.” He crouched down to meet Kowalski’s panicked golden eyes through the thin metal bars. “I promise nothing but fun today,” he said, “although it won’t be nearly as much fun as I’m sure your night of romance with my Queenie was, you shifty thing.” 

“Mew,” Kowalski offered back, ears a little flatter and looking slightly cowed. 

Once they’d made it into the car, with both kennels strapped carefully beside each other in the backseat (and Credence strapped just as carefully next to him on the passenger side), Credence smiled over at him. Graves had a moment then, of having to admit to himself just how wonderful it was to have a whole day of nothing but Credence ahead of him. He couldn’t remember the last time life had felt so…. invigorating? Full of blue skies and butterflies? He wasn’t sure, but he did know that, whatever it was, it was something money just couldn’t buy. Speaking of money, he hoped Credence wasn’t going to turn pale with nerves when he told him where their first stop was meant to be, if his reaction to some of the finer cat collars online were anything to go by.

“So, where to first?” Credence asked cheerfully, almost as though he could read Graves’ thoughts.

“Oh… just going to grab something for us to snack on from a little place I like,” he feigned coyly as he started the car. Maybe he could sneak it past him until it was too late to object?

***

Credence looked at Percival questioningly when he pulled into a parking lot on Broadway.

“Just going to quickly hop across the road to a deli.”

Credence looked around and saw nothing to really fit the description, except… his eyes widened. “What deli?” he asked, staring at the imposing 2-storey food landmark across the road. He’d heard of Zabar’s, though, for obvious reasons, he’d never shopped there; it was more than slightly out of his price range.

“The one over there,” Percival told him, vaguely waving a hand. “Will you stay in the car with the cats? They might panic being left alone.”

Credence opened his mouth to question Percival’s idea of a deli, but then just smiled and nodded. “Of course.” He was rewarded for his easy compliance with a lingering kiss, interrupted by an impatient ‘meow’ from Queenie.

Percival laughed. “Someone’s hungry. Again.” He reached into the back and gave her a loving chin scratch, then did the same with Kowalski.

Credence was tempted to kiss Perival some more, but instead, he just pointed out, “She’s eating for… how many?”

“Four, most likely. According to the vet, a first litter is usually the smallest, with _up to_ three kittens.” Percival sighed. “Queenie never does things by halves.” 

“Oh!” Credence beamed at this, instantly imagining a small, wriggling basket of kittens to fuss over, even while telling himself he shouldn’t think too far ahead.

Percival smiled at him. “It’s incredible, but when you look so happy, you’re even _more_ lovely.”

Credence ducked his head. “Percival…”

“I know, I know, the cats are impatient.” Percival laughed, but got out of the car, after an assurance he wouldn’t be long.

Percival was clearly doing his best to keep the hamper hidden behind his back on the way to the car, but Credence examined it closely when, after deciding it wouldn’t do well rolling around in the trunk, Percival asked him if he’d hold onto it.

“There are so many things in here!” he exclaimed. “What’s this…” He picked up a small box with a maroon label with _Kitty Treats_ handwritten on it.

Percival looked embarrassed. “I might have asked for a few cat-safe nibbles,” he admitted. “Nothing salty, nothing harmful, just a few bits of skinless chicken, some cooked salmon, a few slices of boiled egg, some steamed carrots for digestion…”

Credence was giggling before he could stop himself. He couldn’t help the way he looked at Percival then, and he couldn’t even stop himself when Percival’s eyes widened at his, probably ridiculously besotted, expression. “I…”

“Yes, baby?” Percival cupped his cheek, leaning close.

Credence swallowed. “I just think that’s cute,” he quickly said, pressing his face into the touch.

Percival smiled softly. “That’s a much kinder way to look at my… oddities than I’m used to from people.”

Credence swallowed. “Then those people don’t know you at all.” He didn’t know where that kind of presumptiveness had come from but, going by Percival’s reaction, he didn’t mind at all.

A smooth thumb caressed the edge of Credence’s bottom lip. “You know? That’s actually fine with me, sweetheart, as long as _you_ know me.”

***

It was hard to pay attention to the traffic, with Credence's near-angelic profile to admire (not to mention a pair of increasingly fussy cats in the back seat), but somehow Graves managed it. "I suppose I'm not terribly surprising, or inventive, by taking you to Central Park," he said, "but I think our best chance of securing something somewhat private will be found there." 

Credence looked so happy at that moment, smiling benignly, that Graves suspected he could announce a quiet afternoon at the city dump and it wouldn't change the smile on his face. On _either_ of their faces, if Graves was going to be completely honest with himself. He had to keep in mind that today wasn't a day off that he'd come by honestly, and nor would Credence be there to come home to everyday that he _did_ work… not after this wonderful week was done and the kittens had arrived. But that didn't mean they couldn't make the most of it, whatever time together they could find. 

“That sounds perfect,” Credence said, exactly as Graves had suspected. “Kowalski’s never been there before, even if I have.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the pair of yellow eyes staring balefully back at him through the bars of the cage. “You hear that, _Spooky_? Mr Graves is taking us on another adventure!” 

“Spooky?” Graves couldn’t help but ask, glancing in curiosity at Credence while trying to keep his eyes on the traffic. 

Credence blushed a little at having been caught using what was likely a private term of endearment, but he still nodded. “Yeah, he’s…. he’s my little spooky boy.” He giggled and then turned his face to the window, suddenly _very_ interested in the passing traffic. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Graves told him. “Sometimes I call Queenie my Little Princess.”

Credence spun back to look at him, this time with a broad grin. “Really? She is, though. A little Princess, I mean. She’s so sweet. No wonder Kowalski couldn’t resist.” 

“Hey now,” Graves protested then. “Kowalski may have stolen her from me, at least for a night, but _she’s_ not going to be stealing _you_. You’re all mine, Princess or not.” 

Credence bit his lip and just watched him for a moment with a wistful, dreamy gaze. “A Princess and a Knight,” he finally said. “How perfect is that?”

The park was crowded, as always, and full of the usual raucous activity that Graves generally avoided like the bubonic plague. There were people playing sports on the open green spaces, joggers, dog walkers, the regular old timers locked in a never ending game of chess (Graves didn’t mind them so much), and even a gathering of medieval recreationists staging a small battle of some kind. Credence (and possibly even the cats) were a bit amazed to see that last group, but after a few minutes of careful scouting, Graves managed to find the perfect spot in the shade beneath a copse of trees. It was relatively blocked off from most of the human traffic, with plenty of space to spread out the checkered cloth he’d picked up along with the gourmet food basket. 

Along with the pair of kennels, Graves had also remembered to bring two cat harnesses from out of his car’s trunk. Credence, for the second time that day, fell into a state of apologetic laughter at the way Kowalski so passionately rebelled against being put on a leash for the first time in his life. The collar was acceptable, it seemed, but as far as the cat was concerned, this was just _too much_. Queenie sat patiently watching the ongoing antics, flipping her tail lazily and sniffing at the fresh autumn air. Another 5 minutes later, both of them were successfully harnessed and the leashes fixed carefully to the kennels as a sort of anchor. Kowalski flopped down on his side, as defeated as a child in the final stage of a shopping mall tantrum, while Queenie stepped gingerly through the grass in search of bugs. 

“This is already a perfect day,” Credence sighed, “and we’ve only just started.” He stretched out his long legs across the checkered cloth while Graves picked through the contents of the basket. 

Graves paused to admire him the way he wasn’t quite able to in the car. “I’m very glad with my decision to call in ‘sick,’ even if it was because _someone_ kept me awake half the night.” 

Chewing at his lip again, Credence softly apologised with the least amount of sincerity Graves had ever witnessed (and he was a lawyer). It was enough to have him crawling over the blanket, food basket momentarily abandoned, just to cage the boy in between his arms as he leaned down to kiss his eagerly parting lips. After a moment of finding themselves once again lost in each other, Credence suddenly started, pulling away briefly to glance around them. 

“It’s okay,” Graves reassured him, “the cats can’t get away. I’ve done this before- it’s very secure.” 

Credence didn’t look convinced, and right away, Graves knew that wasn’t the issue. “No, it’s just… is it safe? I mean, for us to be doing this…. out here. In full view.” 

Instantly, Graves understood what he was worried about, and at the same time the mere suggestion of being judged had his hackles slightly raising. “Credence,” he said, his tone darkening, “if anyone is foolish enough to have a problem with us, enough to say or _do_ anything about it, they’re going to regret it very quickly, and very _painfully_.”

“They… they are?” Credence sounded a little breathless. 

“Yes, they are. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with us enjoying ourselves together, anyplace we like, and I’m… not exactly the person to cross, if you catch my meaning. I don’t let things go very easily, it’s what makes me good at my job. And that extends to you now, too. I hope you realise that.” 

Credence was definitely breathless. “I… I guess I must’ve suspected that about you, but. I didn’t know that I’d be included in that, I guess. I just hadn’t thought about it that way.” 

“_Credence…._” Graves could barely stand how sweet Credence always managed to be, or how unassuming. “Absolutely you, and even Kowalski, are included in that now. He _does_ have my number on his tag, after all.” 

Credence’s whole face turned a soft pink then, suffused with pleasure. He glanced quickly over at Kowalski where he’d finally stopped sulking to bat playfully at a fallen leaf. The tag on his collar sparkled in the sunlight cutting through the trees, tinkling delicately against the little bell charm with a musical jingle. When he looked back to Graves’ face, his eyes had darkened and the blush on his cheeks was making its way below the collar of his new red sweater again. “_Percival…_” he breathed. 

“You tell me if anybody bothers you, okay?” Graves said, but they both knew it wasn’t a question. “Because if anyone does, that’s _my_ business now. I want you to know that, all day long, even when I’m not there.” 

The words had barely left his mouth before Credence was lunging up, propped on his elbows to resume the kiss with vigour--this time without a care for who might see. 

***

‘God,’ Credence thought. He almost _wanted_ someone to bother him, just so Percival would charge in and rescue him, put the culprit in his place, and ride off with him on his white stallion, back to his stronghold, where they would… 

He had to get a grip on himself. However tempting it was, he wasn’t quite bold enough to jump on Percival right here out in the open and do what he was dying to do to him, and had been dying to do, ever since last night, when Percival had shown him how.

Percival pampering him was wonderful. Percival protecting him, and being possessive of him like this, though… it was enough to drive him mad with pure _want_.

Hard as it was to concentrate on behaving decently, the sheer loveliness of their picnic kept Credence on track. He lay back against Percival, head on his shoulder, while Percival alternated between snacking and feeding him treats--anything from crackers with pâté to red grapes and cubes of cheeses he’d never tasted. After some refreshing bottled pomegranate juice, there were sweet treats too… puffy, soft raisin challah, dried fruits, almond biscotti, and chocolate pretzels.

Queenie seemed especially determined to get hold of the biscotti so, once Credence declared himself full to bursting, it was her turn and Kowalski’s, the both of them settling in comfortably on the checked blanket beside their humans. Kowalski, who was very forgiving and easily cheered, had forgotten all about his misgivings regarding the harness and was nibbling just as eagerly as Queenie on the tiny bites taken one by one from the kitty box by Percival.

Credence’s heart was melting as he watched Kowalski nip and lick at Percival’s fingers, raspy tongue gently cleaning away every last trace of flaky salmon, sticky egg and all the rest of it.

“I must say, you’re a very tidy eater,” Percival praised him.

“Mew,” Queenie registered her approval of Kowalski’s manners too, much to Credence’s amusement.

Kowalski, aware he was the centre of approving attention, butted his fuzzy head into the palm of Percival’s hand, and was stroked and caressed gently in return. He dropped himself lazily against Percival’s thigh and, head and front paws resting on it, lay there purring while Percival’s left hand ruffled the fur on top of his head.

“I feel like purring too,” Credence snuggled back against Percival, who wrapped his right arm around his waist while soft lips pressed a kiss behind his left ear. “Mmm…” he sighed.

“I could get used to this. What a perfect way to spend the day.”

Credence smiled. “It’ll soon be too cold to do this.”

“There’s always the fireplace in the living room,” Percival pointed out.

To cover the excited pounding of his heart, Credence concentrated on sounding surprised. “A picnic in the living room?”

“Why not?” Percival asked, lips against his cheek. “I have a feeling all kinds of creative, cosy ways to spend time with you will come to my mind.”

“That sounds… wonderful,” Credence breathed. He closed his eyes when the arm around him tightened, the hand moving low on his belly. “Percival!” he gasped. A low chuckle made him shiver.

“I must admit, I’m getting a range of ideas right now.” Percival’s voice was husky.

“Yeah?” Credence asked urgently.

Percival adjusted Credence between his legs a little, making him gasp. “Oh yes, sweetheart. How does this sound? I’ll spend a few minutes trying to think of unappealing things, and then we head back home?”

Giggling, Credence told him, “Sounds good.”


	13. Chapter 13

Once they were back at Graves’ penthouse, there was a brief and quiet lull while they put away the various leftover food items from the basket, and the cats reacquainted themselves with all their favourite spots as though they’d been gone for 5 years rather than a couple of hours. It was all very sweetly domestic; Graves couldn’t help but notice that Credence was finding his way around the kitchen as easily as if it had been his home for ages. The thought warmed him (as much as it startled him) to find it made him feel that way at all. He was normally such a solitary person and always had been, never liking to have someone in his space (and especially not touching all of his things!). But just knowing that Credence was so comfortable in his home now, everything the boy touched seemed somehow all the better for it, Graves included. Turns out, he wasn’t the only one feeling that way. 

“It was so cute, seeing how Kowalski ate from your hands,” Credence said quietly, standing next to him as he reached to put away a carton of crackers into a high cupboard. “It’s nice to see that he’s taken to you… as much as I have.” 

“Oh?” Graves asked, stepping up behind him to wrap his arms around Credence’s waist. “And how much is that?” 

Credence sighed and pressed back further into his embrace, as if he could melt right into Graves’ chest if he willed it with enough sincerity. “It’s a lot,” he said, and his arms came up to lay overtop of Graves,’ pressing down and reinforcing the hug. “It’s…. you said before we left, about being _naughty_. I think I feel pretty naughty right about now, Percival.” 

Graves shivered, hearing that. He dipped his head and nipped at the shell of Credence’s ear and felt his own shiver make its way through them both. It was only just that morning they’d been surging together, flushed and panting, but Graves already felt he’d been patient enough. Watching Credence in the park, smiling gently in the dappled sunlight with the breeze rustling his hair, happy and relaxed under his kisses--it had been just about enough to drive Graves out of his mind, impatient to get back home. “Oh?” he asked again. “I won’t lie, I like the sound of that quite a bit. I think we’ve both been well-behaved enough for one afternoon.”

He stepped back and let Credence slip out of his hold, but only just long enough to turn him around and lift him right up into his arms. Credence gasped with surprise, and then with pleasure as their lips came together in a kiss filled with a frantic urgency that nearly suggested they'd been apart for _days_ rather than not at all. Graves realised then that they _had_ been apart, though--for years--until he'd found himself on the boy's front stoop, righteous indignation melting into flustered, bashful _want_. He determined right then and there that he was going to make up for every one of those long days apart, until neither of them could even remember a time when they hadn't been together. "Bed…. right _now_," he gasped, and Credence nodded eagerly, chasing after his kiss again with a stifled moan.

The perfect vision of Credence laid out on his blue bedspread (in _his_ bed), breathing hard and reaching out for him… he was going to have to work hard to make himself last, if the other times were anything to judge by. Just the sight alone felt like it might be enough to take him over the edge, even at his age--and it had never been like _this_, he'd never been so desperate with need for anyone, or anything. He'd never had to want for a single thing, or at least that's what he'd believed, until Credence had come along and shown him just how badly he'd been lacking. 

"You're so gorgeous, baby," he groaned, as Credence helped to unbutton his cowl neck cardigan, fingers fumbling and tangling together. "I want you so badly, god…. _look_ at you. So pretty in your red sweater…" 

"In _your_ sweater, Percival," Credence insisted, nuzzling at his jaw and panting. "I love the way it feels, I… I like to think it's sort of _you_, when it's touching my skin. That it's you touching me…" 

Graves stopped for a moment and simply closed his eyes, hearing a confession like that, at a time like this. It burned through him like wildfire. "Oh, _Jesus_, baby, you really know how to get to me. Saying things like that, _fuck_." 

"I _want to_," Credence moaned against his lips. "Want to get to you, want to…. " He paused and met Graves' adoring gaze, and the look in his eyes cut through him with a shock of desire so intense. "I want to do what you did to me last night," Credence told him. "I want… to put my mouth on you, _please_."

Graves closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. "Oh, you _are_ in the mood for naughty things, aren't you?" 

***

“Yes,” Credence sighed. “I even thought about doing this in the park. Just for… just for a moment.” He flushed, peering at Percival from under his lashes.

Percival stared at him for a long, breathless minute or so, as if he couldn’t believe Credence had just said that. Then he swore under his breath and hastened to undo his belt, button and zipper, pushing his trousers down over his hips impatiently, his boxers dragging along and freeing his desperately hard cock.

Panting, Credence looked and admired, licking his lips. 

“Please,” Percival’s voice was more moan than request, his eyes burning into Credence’s.

Credence didn’t bother with his own clothes, merely pushing Percival’s shirt up above his navel before bracing his hands on his hip bones and leaning in. He hesitated for an instant with his breath hot and damp over the flushed tip, and his stomach flipped excitedly when just this caused a pearl of semen to well from the slit. He lapped it up at once, getting used to the taste.

Percival was watching him, looking ready to tell Credence it was all right if he’d changed his mind.

Nothing could have been further from his mind! He nestled between Percival’s legs and closed his hand around the shaft, then licked again… up the underside, curling his tongue around the sides, flicking it up under the head and lavishing attention on the blood-suffused tip--soft and spongy, and so beautifully vulnerable, under his tongue and lips.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Percival’s voice was trembling with emotion, his fingertips caressing what he could reach of Credence’s face… his temples and the bridge and tip of his nose, mostly.

Credence kissed the emerging slickness off the hot flesh, then whispered, “Am I doing it right?”

Moaning, Percival met his eyes. “You’re doing wonderfully. Everything you do…” He shuddered under a long, slow lick across the slit. “God… you’re perfect. You’re driving me crazy, _baby_, I… ahh!”

Emboldened by the praise, Credence had arched up a little, his mouth enclosing the whole head, suckling it for every hint of salty bitterness. The taste… Percival’s taste… was addictive. He wanted to do this for hours. Wanted to make him feel as good as he’d made Credence feel.

Percival’s fingers were in his hair, not tugging, just letting it flow over his skin like water. His fingertips grazed his scalp, now and then, soothing him when he tried to slide down too far too soon and almost made himself gag. Even during this, shivering and groaning and seeming near mindless with pleasure, Percival was taking care of _him_. It only made him that much more eager to take care of Percival.

He closed his hand more tightly around the shaft, near the base, and took him as deep into his mouth as he could, letting him nudge the roof of it, and the insides of his cheeks, making up for lack of depth with variation and constant, teasing licks all around the head and shaft.

“Not going to last much longer,” Percival panted. “Better pull away and use… use your hand, baby, unless you want to...”

Credence met his eyes and sucked harder, moving his mouth up and down the throbbing length faster.

Percival groaned. “Fuck, you’ll make me come like a fountain.”

Credence moaned around him, having no idea if he could take it but more than eager to find out.

“Oh, Jesus!” Percival’s fingertips moved helplessly around Credence’s head while his legs parted wider, his knees were pulled up, and he braced himself with his feet on the bed.

Credence’s left hand moved up over his belly, under the shirt, and was covered there by Percival’s right, held firmly to the warm skin, stomach rising and falling with rapid breaths. 

“Credence, you absolute wonder...” Percival’s voice was like a prayer. “I… I can’t…” He twined his fingers with Credence’s on his hot skin just before he shuddered all over, gushing into Credence’s mouth and down his throat.

Credence swallowed rapidly, determined to take it all, just as Percival had done the night before. His right hand rubbed any escaping seed into the shaft slowly softening in his mouth, and he licked his lips when he drew back at last, then swallowed again.

Percival stared down at him, eyes nearly black and lips parted. “Come up here,” he croaked, already drawing him up by the hand in his grasp.

Credence was more than happy to be pulled into Percival’s arms, whimpering when he was kissed breathless and flipped over onto his back, finding himself lying under Percival, who combed his fingers through his hair and looked at him in absolute awe.

***

"Good god, baby… " Graves could barely speak for a moment or two, only breathe hard after the comedown and shake his head now and then in total amazement. "I'd promised myself that I would last longer this time, but I'm glad I didn't promise that to _you_, because I like to keep my promises." 

Credence giggled sweetly underneath him, and quickly the sound melted into a surprised little moan as Graves' hands found their way up under the hem of the soft red sweater. "Oh, that's a good start," Graves said admiringly. "I like that sound. It's your turn now, so I think I'll be hearing more of it, what do you think?" 

"Wha--?" Credence raised his head slightly off the bed to watch, only to have it fall back down to the mattress with the arching of his back. Graves had pushed his sweater up high on his chest to settle near his collar bone while he licked and sucked at one rosy nipple, nipping lightly--and then a little more firmly. 

"Ohhhh…. oh," was all Credence could manage to say, but it was enough for Graves. More than enough. He reached between the boy's legs to cup his hardness (most likely _aching_by now) through the fabric of the jeans he still wore. With a sharp little sound, Credence arched up into the possessive caress even further, beginning to squirm and writhe. "Oh please," he managed to finally beg, his thrusts and his moans growing frustrated. 

"Let's see if you can last longer than I did, hmmm?" Graves leaned back up to kiss his spit-glossy lips before he returned to his task, pulling Credence's zipper open and dragging both jeans and boxers down over his hips. 

For a brief moment he paused to admire--Credence's legs held steady by the fabric tight around his thighs. First catching his eyes, Graves breathed hot along the length of his cock, watching the precum well up at the tip and rejoicing in the nearly pained whimpers Credence gave him. He sounded like a cat, like Queenie did when her food dish was still on the countertop just out of reach. He trailed a few soft kisses against it then, out of pity, or perhaps mercy, and was rewarded with the most sweetly broken moan he'd likely ever heard. It was enough to bring a throb of interest to his own freshly spent cock and he let out a small groan of his own at what a miracle this boy really was, to be able to do this to him so easily. 

"God, I need to make you come," he said, pulling the pants down all the way and casting them onto the pile of his own clothes at the foot of the bed. "Almost as badly as I wanted to come, myself." 

"Yeah?" Credence asked in a shaking voice, watching him as he made his way quickly over to the bedside drawer to retrieve the lube like he had the night before. He was right--his own cock was already half-hard again, bobbing with his movement--and Credence was evidently noticing it too, with interest. His hand strayed down to tug gently at himself with a soft hiss, eyes fixed on Graves' naked form returning to the bed. "I want… I want to come for you," he panted, "I want to please you, so badly…" 

"Oh, sweetheart," Graves answered, slicking up his fingers and crawling between the widening space between Credence's legs. "You always please me, don't you know that? Even just looking at you pleases me." 

He licked his lips at the way Credence's knees fell loosely--almost obediently--open, and the way he subtly lifted his hips, so ready to take whatever Graves was willing to give. And it was a lot, Graves thought, that he was prepared to give him. It was everything.

Grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed, Graves lifted Credence's hips and placed it under the small of his back. Then he dipped his head low, pushing back on Credence's thighs just slightly to do as he'd done to his cock only moments before: breathing over the tender, pink opening, broadcasting what he intended. Credence's stomach tensed and trembled in anticipation, fingers clenched in the sheets at either side. "_Percival…_” he groaned low, "oh, _yes_." 

Graves hummed his approval, right before lapping a firm lick over the quivering muscle, swirling the tip of his tongue around the rim. "Ohhh, _kitten_," he breathed. 

"Oh!" Credence nearly shouted then, gasping and shuddering already, in the grip of a pleasure bordering on desperate. "Ohhh, my god…"

"Do you like that?" Graves asked, sliding one slick fingertip inside and marvelling at how easily it was taken. "Do you like me calling you that, while I'm doing _this_ to you?" 

"Percival… oh _god_..." One hand came up to rest shakily over his eyes, "yes, I love it, I-- please don't stop, please… I want you to fuck me. I want you inside, I can…. I can take it, I trust you…" 

Graves groaned and lapped again at the tight, glistening furl currently gripping his finger all the way down to the last knuckle--as if he could coax it open under his tongue by sheer desire alone. "My little kitten, I want that so much… let's see if we can, we'll take our time… make you nice and ready, hmm?" 

***

“I think… I think I’m ready _now_,” Credence gasped, convinced it was the truth.

Percival’s chuckle was a hot, damp gust of breath into his channel as he drew back his exploring finger, wriggling it a little just before it plopped out. “I know you want to be, sweetheart, but I’ll need a little more room than a finger’s worth.”

Credence shuddered. “Yes, I… I know… a lot more.” He gazed down at Percival heatedly.

“Mmm…” Percival slid two fingers inside, slowly. “The way you look at me, it’s a good thing my ego doesn’t have to fit in there as well.”

Gasping out a laugh, Credence did his best to relax around the double intrusion. It was easy--Percival was so careful with him, watching him closely and checking verbally that he wasn’t in any discomfort.

“How does this feel, kitten? It doesn’t hurt?” Percival prompted. “Are you feeling good?”

“Feel amazing,” Credence told him, “Percival, I want you _so much_.” He blushed at the desperation in his own voice.

Percival made a rather desperate sound himself. “God, how did I get so lucky? You’re so sweet and delicious, I can hardly believe you’re real.” He kissed the inside of Credence’s thigh, and the juncture of his hip, and every inch around the muscle he was loosening patiently with his slick fingers.

Credence mewled at the words, and the tender preparation, somehow figuring out how to help with the widening of his channel, exhaling and relaxing completely. “More, oh please… more!”

“Anything you want, baby.” And Percival gave him more--a third finger, along with the other two, and such a copious amount of lube, it was going to make a mess of his nice sheets, but he didn’t seem to notice or care, focussed on Credence with the dedication of a worshipper.

“Just you, please, I want _you!_”

Percival rested his forehead against Credence’s thigh and panted, “God. _Fuck!_ I can’t wait. I need to be inside you now, but you _have_ to tell me if it’s even the least bit uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay,” Credence agreed, bracing himself on the bed and looking eagerly at Percival, whimpering when the fingers were withdrawn.

Percival looked at him worriedly.

“Feel so empty,” Credence explained, reaching down to caress his cheek lovingly.

Percival looked shaken. “Aww, kitten, not for long, I promise you. I’m going to fill you right up.” His voice was soft and low and, despite his barely suppressed urgency, he turned his face and kissed Credence’s palm. Then he held the raised hand to his cheek while he used the lube on himself. He guided his cock into place, moving very, very slowly.

Credence was holding his breath, making a high, surprised little sound at the sensation of the slick, bulbous tip breaching him.

Percival stilled at once, watching him closely.

“Please…” Credence exhaled, concentrating on the slow glide of the first couple of inches inside him. “More, I can take more,” he insisted softly.

Percival pressed Credence’s hand down into the pillow beside him, supporting himself on his right hand as he lowered himself down, nudging his way into the slick, tight channel. “Wrap your legs around me, if you like.”

He’d barely finished speaking before Credence did just that, tightening his thighs around Percival’s hips, pulling him inside further in the process. He gasped. “Oh, that’s…”

“Yeah,” Percival agreed, looking into his eyes for a long moment before kissing him, slow and deep. The kiss became open-mouthed when Percival began to pull back, then immediately thrust in again, and they both started gasping for breath.

Credence panted into his lover’s mouth. He met the searching tongue with his own enthusiastically, his shins sliding along Percival’s thighs, his arms around him and holding on so tight, he was surprised Percival could move.

But move he did, in and out of him with deep yet gentle thrusts that caused starbursts behind Credence’s closed lids. “You feel... so... _good_... kitten… my sweet, sweet… love!” Percival gasped his beautiful words against Credence’s neck, his ear, into his open mouth.

Credence fought not to use words at all, only moans and sighs and, whenever Percival nudged a particularly wonderful place inside him, hiccuping gasps. He could only think of one thing to say, but didn’t know if Percival wanted to hear it, despite what he’d just called him. So he just clung, thinking this was what heaven felt like. It had to be. 

“Ohhh… god, Credence.” Shifting so he could pin both of Credence’s hands back against the pillow, Percival arched his back and thrust, hard and deep, growling just one word. “Mine!”

Credence’s jaw dropped open, the carefully guarded words nearly tumbling out. “Yes,” he panted instead. “Yes, oh yes… Percival!”

Percival stilled, deep inside him, and Credence instinctively clenched around him as he came, hard, with a low groan, followed moments later by Credence, who spent himself between them with a soft cry.

As Percival collapsed into Credence’s arms, they closed around him and held him, and both of them were smiling contentedly.


	14. Chapter 14

Of all the wonderful things about having Credence around, waking up next to him was shaping up to be Graves’ favourite. There was something… almost _magical_ about that first moment of disorientation--the warm weight against him under the sheets, the soft, even breaths, and the sudden return of his memory of the night before. And the night before _that_. It was like Christmas every single day, if Graves still actually celebrated it. But here, nestled just beneath his arm and snoring gently, was real cause to celebrate. If only he didn’t have to go into work. 

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured into the mussed hair near Credence’s ear. Credence moaned a soft complaint and turned in his arms, snuggling into Graves’ chest in a way he was used to most often from Queenie. The shift in placement brought a pinkened cheek just close enough beneath Graves’ lips to pepper with morning kisses, and he smiled to himself to see the way the sheets had left a zig zag print on the tender skin. One eye finally opened, eyelashes slightly crimped and bent at the corner, and his smile was warmly, if slowly, returned. “Hi,” Credence whispered. “I missed you.” 

“You missed me? But I was right here in bed with you the whole time.” 

“I know,” Credence giggled, “but I was asleep and I had a weird dream.” 

Graves raised himself up on one elbow to look down at Credence a little better. “Oh? Not a bad one, I hope?” 

“Mmm, no… just something about those medieval costume people at the park, I think… and then Kowalski ran away to join them and they were fighting mock battles with his face painted on their wooden shields…” He stared up at Graves and bit his lip, clearly a little embarrassed to have revealed the ramblings of his subconscious. 

Graves raised his brows. “I might have to give the people at Zabar’s a call this afternoon, and find out what exactly they put in that snack basket yesterday.” 

Credence covered his face with his hands, though Graves could see him turning his signature shade of pink beneath his pale fingers. “It’s not _that_ weird!” he protested. 

“No, it’s not,” Graves admitted, trying his best to kiss the hands away and find the boy’s laughing mouth. “But it’s up there.” 

Just then, Kowalski decided to join them, leaping up onto the foot of the bed with a series of excited chirps--most likely summoned by their voices and the prospect of breakfast. “Kowalski, _no_,” Credence began to protest, sitting up to shoo him off the covers. 

“It’s okay, he can stay,” Graves said, extending a hand for Kowalski to cautiously sniff. The cat did exactly that, before butting his head up under the curve of his palm in search of a caress. 

“Really?” Credence asked, “it’s really okay?” 

Graves kept scratching around the cat’s ears, only to have him grow bold and begin purring loudly as he attempted to snuggle into both of their laps. “Yeah, it’s fine. Besides, we’ve made enough of a mess out of these sheets that it would hardly matter at this point.” 

Credence hid his face behind his tangled hair and chewed his lip again, fighting a little smile that Graves still caught anyway. Delightful. 

“I’ll throw these in the wash after we get up,” Graves went on, “which will unfortunately have to be soon, since I do need to go into work today. And we could use some cleaning up, ourselves. Would you like to take a shower with me? To save time… among other things?” 

Credence nodded emphatically then, letting go the teasing smile into a full grin. “Mhmm. I’ll need to bank up on whatever I can get if I have to go all day without you again.” 

On the way to the shower, wrapped in a shared bed sheet and stopping every few seconds to press against the wall and kiss, Graves almost hadn’t noticed what seemed strange about the morning until it suddenly struck him. “Hang on a second,” he said, pulling back from Credence’s lips to look around them in the hallway. “I haven’t seen Queenie yet. She’s usually inseparable from Kowalski by now…” 

They managed to refrain from their shared early morning ardour long enough to give the penthouse a quick search, calling for Queenie and peering around her usual favourite haunts. It was clumsy, as far as search parties go, and took a few minutes longer than it otherwise might've, with the two of them sharing one sheet. Graves was almost (he could hold it together in front of Credence, surely) worried--_almost_, that is, until he noticed the door to the linen closet had been pulled ajar again. 

When they opened it up further, there she was, purring contentedly on a small pile of hand towels and a few not-exactly inexpensive silk dinner napkins. The whole setup was admittedly quite elaborate. “Well, my Little Princess,” Graves said, crouching down to scratch under her chin while sharing a knowing look with Credence, “I’m not too sure how you managed to get those napkins down off the high shelf, but I suppose nothing’s too good for your imminent little ones, is it?” 

‘And imminent they _must_ be,’ he thought, ‘if she’s back to this nesting routine again.’

***

Kowalski, who had not joined in the search, presumably because he was well aware of what exactly Queenie was up to, padded into the closet right through Credence’s legs, nearly getting tangled up in the sheet still barely clinging onto him and Percival. He stopped there and peered up at him as if to ask, ‘How do you like our nursery?’

Credence reached down and patted his head, then rose to look at Percival worriedly. “When do you think they’ll arrive, Percival?”

“Any time soon, now she’s padding the nest.” Percival smiled at him reassuringly. “I am glad you’re here,” he told Credence, wrapping him in his arms. “For a million reasons, and being able to keep an eye on her is just one of them.”

“The main one, or so you told me on Sunday,” Credence couldn’t help but point out.

Percival laughed against the crook of his neck, raising goosebumps on the tender skin. “I don’t know who I was trying to fool with that,” he said.

Credence made a surprised sound. “What do you mean?”

Percival kissed the shivering skin, then confessed, “I came to your door merely to express my annoyance, but once I saw you… I’m afraid the foremost thing on my mind became to…” He became a little bashful. “Well… to keep on seeing you.”

“Oh…” Credence whispered, kissing his cheek. “I was very surprised when you demanded I move in with you for the week.”

With a chuckle, Percival met his eyes. “You must have thought I was completely ridiculous.” When Credence giggled, he admitted, “Well, I suppose I am. About Queenie, certainly. And... about you.”

“Percival…” Credence smiled sweetly at him. “I like you being ridiculous about me.” He kissed him, and the kiss was returned with vigour. Percival’s arms tightened around him and, with neither of them sparing a thought for the sheet enfolding them both, they only stopped kissing once they felt a little chilly.

The sheet lay bunched on the floor, tangled between their feet, with Kowalski and Queenie both doing their best to drag it on top of the silk napkins.

Credence laughed helplessly, and Percival goggled at the cats for a stunned moment or two, then told them firmly, “Oh no, that’s where I draw the line! You do _not_ get to keep our sheet.”

“Mew.” Queenie, not used to being denied, somehow managed to look pouty, which made Credence laugh even harder.

Percival looked at him, and his shocked features relaxed into a warm smile, which slowly began to move down Credence’s, once again, naked form. “Remind me, sweetheart… why are we not in bed, wrapped in that sheet? Or doing all sorts of naughty things on top of it?”

Credence bit his lip, trying to be serious. “Because you need to go to work?”

Percival’s face fell. “We were heading for the shower.” When Credence nodded, he ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, good grief. Well, I guess we’d better…”

It wasn’t the most efficient shower, nor the quickest one. By the time they’d washed each other quite thoroughly, they were very much back in the mood to get dirty. The presence of a large bottle of slippery body wash, and an urgent need to take care of each other before there was any hope of being able to dress, prolonged the shower further.

Percival vaguely mentioned he’d likely be late for work, but Credence didn’t think he minded too much, considering right after saying so, he pressed him against the warm, wet tiles, kissing him deeply and bringing him to a knee-shaking climax with his wonderful, gentle hand.

Credence, naturally, had to return the favour at once.

They made breakfast together, quick frozen waffles toasted and drizzled with jam, which they fed to each other across the dining table.

“I hate the thought of not seeing you for hours,” Percival told Credence between bites of waffle with raspberry jam.

“You could take a photo of me,” Credence offered with a smile.

Percival’s face lit up, and he reached for his phone and did just that, looking down at the result with a soppy expression.

Credence’s heart was pounding when he imagined Percival reaching to look at it throughout the day, like that… He’d imagined him at work: stern, efficient, and probably terrifying. The thought that just the sight of _him_ could make Percival’s eyes soften and cause a tender smile to dance around his lips was breathtaking.

“I want one too,” he murmured, his voice cracking.

Percival smiled when Credence took his photo, then reached out to cup his cheek. “I’m going to miss you today, kitten.”

“I’ll miss you too.” Credence kissed him over the corner of the table, raspberry and blackberry flavours mingling on their tongues. He knew the day would seem interminably long, even if, by now, Percival was most definitely running late.

***

Percival was late for work, which, for him, was almost unthinkable. But then again, he’d been “sick” the day before and as far as he could tell, his co-workers were chalking it all up to that. Besides, he was a senior partner in this firm--it wasn’t as though anyone was about to complain straight to his face, even if they were curious.

The morning dragged on and on as he’d expected it would, filled with all the little frustrations and unforeseen problems that he used to take so easily in stride. But now he had Credence at home to compare everything to, not to mention a cat that was ready to nearly burst with who knew how many kittens; being away from them was almost painful (and was making him a terrible grump, even more than usual). 

Thank god he’d thought to take that picture before he left for the day. Already, he’d checked it so many times he was sure he’d essentially memorised its every detail, and he was so happy to know that he wouldn’t _have_ to memorise it. He was going to see Credence that way as often as he could manage it: hair still damp from the (even more memorable) shower they’d only just shared, wrapped in one of his house robes and smiling in the morning light at the breakfast table. 

He was doing just that: looking at the photo (yet again), pretending to glower at some unnerving text to keep prying eyes from wondering too long over it--when an actual unnerving text suddenly came through, lighting up the notification bar right over Credence’s twinkling eyes. And it was from him. 

_Hey_, it read. _I’m not sure if this is normal or not, but I can’t seem to convince Queenie to eat. Normally she’d be howling for her food by now, wouldn’t she?_ 😟

Graves stared at the text for a moment, debating with himself. He’d been warned by the vet that this might happen about 24 hours before the litter finally came, but this was at least a couple days early. It _was_ genuinely concerning… it was also a perfect “Get Out of Jail Free” card, as far as work was concerned. He had already dealt with the most pressing of his early meetings, no one would really miss him, and anything else he needed to take care of, he could do from his laptop at home. 

He was already grabbing his coat off the hook as he answered Credence’s text. 

_I’m coming back home and we’ll take her to the vet to make sure everything is actually fine. We’ll bring Kowalski, too, he may as well have a checkup while we’re at it._

All Credence sent back was a beaming happy face emoji. 

When he got home (in record time for New York traffic), he was greeted at the door with a lingering kiss that almost had him forgetting exactly why he’d come back, if it wasn’t for precisely that (it _was_, in part). This time around, Kowalski stepped obediently into the carrier, almost as if he understood the seriousness of the circumstances. Credence and Graves both smiled at each other over it, pouring out praise for the cat as he curled himself into a little ball at the back of the case and tucked his nose underneath one paw. 

Queenie went into the case just as easily, and definitely a bit more sedately than was normal for her. If it wasn’t the kittens, _something_ was definitely going on with her, and Graves was happy with his decision to look into it rather than simply assume. He and Credence held hands on the way to the elevator, one carrier case each held on either side of them, and they stayed like that all the way out to the car. The knowing smile of the door man wasn’t lost on either of them as they passed, but Graves found he didn’t at all care, even if he _was_ usually a very private man. 

***

Kowalski didn’t look at all pleased to find himself, carrier and all, parked on one side of the vet’s examination table, while Queenie lay on her back in front of him, being examined carefully.

Credence had a couple of fingers stuck inside the carrier, stroking the tip of Kowalski’s left paw to soothe him. “She’s not being hurt, don’t worry, munchkin,” he told him.

Percival’s concerned look moved back and forth between Queenie, Credence and Kowalski.

“She’s fine, Mr Graves,” the vet told Percival, “there are three strong heartbeats, and I think the kittens are eager to come out.”

Percival exhaled audibly. “When, doctor?”

Gently moving his fingers around her swollen belly, for which Queenie gave him an icy stare, the vet pronounced, “I’d say by midday tomorrow, you’ll be a granddad.”

Credence snickered. He couldn’t help himself. Percival looked torn between relief, nervousness, joy, and a definite dislike of being called a granddad.

“Well, she’s perfectly healthy. There’s nothing more for me to do here.” The vet gently placed her back in her carrier, where she lay back and seemed to doze off almost at once, no doubt relieved the poking and prodding was done with. “She probably won’t eat until after she’s given birth, but make sure there’s plenty of food available to her then, of course.”

Percival nodded. “Naturally.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I’d like you to examine the father of the little ones as well, please.”

The vet, who had been throwing curious glances at Credence and Kowalski since their arrival, said, “No problem, Mr Graves. Is there something wrong with him?”

Credence looked worriedly at Percival, knowing full well that, less than a week ago, he likely would have had a long list of Kowalski’s shortcomings to report to the vet.

“Not a thing,” Percival said, to Credence’s delight. “As far as I can tell, he’s healthy and very energetic. We’d just like to be sure he’s up to date on all his vaccinations and checkups.”

“How old is he?”

Credence told him, “He’s quite young. I found him as a kitten less than a year ago.”

The vet’s eyes popped wide. “Found?”

“Yes, he’d been abandoned.” 

The vet gave Percival the kind of look that clearly said, ‘Strange choice of father.’ To Credence, he said, “Well, he was lucky then. Let’s have a look at him.” While Credence opened the carrier, he asked, “Have you taken him to a vet at all?”

“Oh yes, as soon as I could. He’s been checked out and found healthy, if a bit scrawny.” Credence listed the vaccinations Kowalski had been given, too, right after he’d found him and 3 months later.

“He’s up to date on those, then. Keep in mind vaccinations need to be repeated yearly. Some are especially important if he roams outside a lot.”

Credence nodded. “Yes, doctor.” He added, with a look at Percival, “I’ll be a lot more careful about letting him do that.”

He reached into the carrier; Kowalski refused to emerge, digging his claws into the edge of the carrier and mewling in distress.

“He doesn’t like vets, I’m afraid,” Credence said apologetically.

The vet nodded sympathetically. “He has that in common with a lot of my patients.”

Percival sighed. “No doubt he feels betrayed that, this time, the carrier didn’t mean a trip to Central Park.”

The vet snickered at that.

“I’m sorry, Kowalski,” Percival said soothingly, reaching for him while Credence pried his claws loose gently. “No one’s going to hurt you.” He lifted him across the table and held him up to look into the frightened, golden eyes. “I promise, you’re in safe hands.”

“Mew,” Kowalski said doubtfully.

“Please don’t hold it against me. Credence and I, we just want to make sure you’re well and have everything you need.” Percival held him to his chest then, stroking his little head tenderly. “Dr Richards is very good. He’s just going to look you over and make sure you’re becoming a big, strong cat.”

Credence watched, astonished, as Kowalski seemed to go limp in Percival’s arms, snuggling into his chest trustingly with a soft purr.

“That’s it. Brave little boy.” Percival stroked the fuzzy fur behind his ears, then brushed his thumb tip over a little cheek and under Kowalski’s chin, and the purring intensified; Kowalski’s front paws settled against the fine suit jacket lapels as if to stroke Percival back.

Credence wondered why his vision was blurry, until he realised his eyes were filling with tears. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, smiling when Percival gave him a concerned look. “I’m fine,” he murmured, sniffing.

The vet was looking back and forth between them with a smile.

When Percival sat Kowalski down on the examination table, he kept stroking him, while Credence whispered soothing nonsense to him, and he blinked a little nervously, but allowed the checkup.

“He’s basically healthy, and he seems a very active little thing,” Dr Richards pronounced after a thorough exam. “He needs plenty of food and water, and I think he could use a little more high quality proteins especially.”

Credence nodded, mentally rearranging his tight budget further in Kowalski’s favour.

“He’ll want for nothing, doctor,” Percival said decisively then, and Credence blinked at him. “Nothing at all,” he added with a soft smile at him, and Credence returned it.

“Well, love is one thing he certainly has plenty of,” the vet said with a smirk, “so I’m sure with a steady food supply and regular checkups, he’ll be a very happy cat.”

Credence beamed and thanked Dr Richards, as did Percival, then they joined forces maneuvering Kowalski back into his carrier. Queenie was still comfortably slumbering in hers when they left the clinic.

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but I could use a good cup of coffee and some sustenance,” Percival said once all four of them were safely strapped into the car. “Know somewhere good we could pick something up? Dr Richards has assured me Queenie won’t pop out the little ones for several more hours at least.”

Credence grinned. “Kowalski’s?”

Laughing, Percival leaned across to him. “I thought you might say that.” He cupped Credence’s chin and kissed him, then looked into his eyes for a long, silent moment. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some temporary angst in this chapter. (Yes, really.) But don't worry, all will be well. :)

Outside of Kowalski’s, in the very parking lot where Credence had found, well, his _own_ little Kowalski, Graves wondered aloud whether only one of them should go inside while the other stayed with the cats in the parked car. After Credence insisted that Jacob certainly wouldn’t object, at least not if the cats were still in their cases, Graves relented, and they went into the shop together (with two very curious cats in tow). 

As soon as they got inside, Jacob Kowalski himself was all smiles. Grins, in fact--Graves wasn’t sure he’d ever quite met anyone who seemed to smile with his whole face the way Jacob did. Credence set Kowalski’s case down onto a nearby empty table, and Graves followed suit while Credence allowed himself to be pulled into a bear hug that would make anyone nearby think the two hadn’t seen each other in years. 

The place smelled amazing, as if it were slowly turning into more of a bakery than a coffee shop, and it was bustling with quiet activity. It was interesting to Graves, to think of this as a workplace rather than something more like a home; he tried to imagine himself, being just like Jacob or Credence, joking with customers and glazing doughnuts all day with a beaming smile. He couldn’t quite manage to place himself in that mental image, but he could easily see how much it suited Credence (someone so kind and gentle it was almost painful to see). More than that, he could appreciate it as a clearly successful business model, one he himself would be almost unbearably ill-suited for, while at the same time he realised he’d never quite thought of everyday people’s jobs with anything more than a passing sense of how convenient they might be to him as he went about his day. Suddenly, taxi cab drivers and dry cleaners were becoming _people_ in Graves’ eyes--not that they weren’t before, but--he had to be honest with himself. They sort of _weren’t_ before, not in a really real way. And when he asked himself: _before_? Before what? The answer was clear. It was Credence, of course. Credence’s magical touch had somehow, silently over just a few days, been making anonymous faces into actual human beings with lives and hopes of their own… Graves included. 

Looking around the place and taking it all in, Percival realised that Jacob was regarding him with a glimmer of knowing interest. He knew that look, and he knew that Jacob was right: he had it bad for Credence and there was no hiding it. Nor was there any interest in keeping it under wraps, either. Credence was someone to be rather proud of. He decided then to step over and actually join them, rather than leaving them to their chatter and staying out of it as though he weren’t a part of things. 

“Well,” he said, hands in his pockets and what he hoped was a friendly enough smile on his face (though there wasn’t a chance it was as friendly as Jacob’s), “how has my temporary help been working out for you while Credence is away?” 

Jacob immediately began to chuckle at that, while Credence seemed to watch his face with a touch of his own (slightly worried?) interest. “Oh, I can’t say a word against him!” Jacob announced happily. “He took a bit of training, like anyone, but he got up to speed in record time.” He clapped a hand on Credence’s shoulder warmly then, and Percival felt a proprietary sense of approval, seeing how Jacob knew to give reassurance where Credence might need it, and without making a whole production of it, either. It was clear the man was a good employer; he could see why Credence liked being here as much as he did. Hand still on his arm, Jacob leaned in a little closer to Credence and spoke at a confidential volume: “I _say_ that, and it’s true… but the kid doesn’t quite have your touch, I gotta admit. I’ll be happy to have you back, but I’m not too sure he’s gonna want to go when the time comes,” his voice dropped even lower and he glanced to Percival with a twinkling mirth in his eyes. “I think he’s sort of hiding in the back as we speak… He sure didn’t expect to see _you_ walk in!” 

Percival looked to the shadowy space behind the counter, where the little kitchen was hidden beyond the door, and he could see a hint of movement as someone puttered around back there. He frowned with the realisation that he surely wasn’t the same sort of boss that Jacob must be, and on the heels of that, the realisation that he wanted to be. 

***

Credence watched Percival warm to the rustic surroundings of the coffee shop and guessed his usual haunts were probably a lot fancier, flashier, and less crowded, but that the charm of the place was casting its spell on him. As he thought that, Percival’s eyes met his, and the look he gave him was so soft, Credence couldn’t help but smile at him soppily.

He was well aware Jacob could probably tell just how crazy he was about Percival, but it didn’t matter. When Percival looked at him like that, as if Credence was the sun lighting up his world, nothing mattered--none of the past, none of the hardships or the pain, because somehow, it had all led him here… to a life where he had a friend like Jacob, a workplace people visited to relax and be taken care of… and to Percival.

Jacob chuckled and, when Credence looked at him, he gave him a wink. “So I’m guessing you two…” he paused, just long enough for both of them to grow flustered, then continued cheerfully, “came in for some coffee and kiffles?”

“Some what?” While Percival was floundering, Credence said, “You’re early, Jacob! Aren’t they for Christmas?”

“Trial run, to see if the customers like them. Besides, you know I don’t believe in limiting anything tasty to once a year.” Jacob leaned closer and said conspiratorially, just loud enough for Credence and Percival to hear him. “When you love something, you should make sure it’s always within easy reach.”

Credence made a soft sound in the back of his throat and blushed when Percival said, thoughtfully, “That’s an excellent philosophy, Jacob.”

“Isn’t it though?” Jacob grinned, already attending to their coffees. “Have a seat, and I’ll get you sorted out. Anything for your furry friends? Some little bits of banana or peeled apple, maybe? I’ve just done a batch of strudel and banana bread.” He went a few steps into the kitchen and returned with a little saucer of fruit pieces.

Credence took it gratefully. “Thanks, Jacob.”

Kowalski came into view, sensing impending treats, and eagerly snapped up a banana slice Credence held out to him through the bars.

Percival peered into Queenie’s carrier. She’d woken up, but wasn’t sniffing at the air as she usually would somewhere so abundant in food smells. “I’m not sure Queenie will eat anything. The kittens are due very shortly.”

“They _are_?” Jacob all but bounced with joy. “Aww, that’s great. Credence, you’ll have to take a picture. I’m going to want to see them.”

Credence was about to say yes, of course he would, when Percival surprised him. “In that case, you should come and see them in person. Next week for dinner one evening? I’m sure Credence will love to have you come by and won’t mind cooking for an extra--” His face fell, and it was clear he realised what he was saying. “Er… what I mean is…”

Before Percival could even begin to backtrack, Credence said, “I’d love it.” He smiled at them both.

Jacob looked amused. He was serving up kiffles dripping with cherry filling and handed the plates across the counter to them both. He helped cover up any awkwardness with an enthusiastic, “Thanks, Mr Graves. Count me in. I’d really like to see the little fuzz balls.”

Percival acknowledged his acceptance of the invitation, and the plate, with a quick nod and a smile, then looked at Credence. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Credence felt his heart thumping all the way up into his throat. He had no idea whether he’d just agreed to stay at Percival’s place longer or whether he’d agreed to come back for the evening and cook, but either way--he would be there.

“That’s… that’s wonderful.” Percival’s voice was so soft, it was barely audible over the ding of the bell above the door and the resulting gasp and “Oh my god!” from Jacob.

Credence glanced to the door and turned to Jacob, giggling when he saw his face.

Jacob stood there with his mouth open and his eyes round as saucers, staring at the newest arrival.

“What’s going on?” Percival asked in a hushed tone, nodding at Jacob, who had clearly all but forgotten they were there.

Credence leaned close. “His favourite customer. He’s been trying to get up the nerve to talk to her beyond ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ for weeks, even though she comes in every couple of days.”

“Huh…” Jacob muttered, still gawking at the pretty blonde in a fluffy white faux fur coat, a dainty matching beret floating on her curls.

“To be honest,” Credence continued quietly, “she kind of reminds me of Queenie.”

Percival snickered. 

“Aww, how cute!” the girl suddenly exclaimed, and rushed across towards them, one hand outstretched.

Percival immediately wrapped an arm around Credence’s shoulder, pulling him close possessively--much to Credence’s delight and amusement.

The girl beamed at them, then leaned down to peer into one cat carrier after the other. “Hello there… aren’t you two pretty?” She looked up. “Yours?”

“Yes,” Percival said, tightening his hold on Credence and trying to be subtle about placing his free hand on top of both carriers.

Credence snuggled into his hold happily. “Their names are Queenie and Kowalski,” he said helpfully.

The girl gave him a dimpled smile, then she blinked. “Oh, Kowalski as in... “ She looked towards Jacob, blushing.

“Ye-yes.” Jacob had finally got up his courage and came around the counter, eyes fixed on her with a lovesick expression. 

She tilted her head. “You must be a real sweetie to get such a cute kitty named after you, huh?”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. “Uh…” He grappled for words, “I… I really couldn’t say.” He barked out a nervous laugh.

“I could.” She winked at him. “I can always tell.”

“You _can_? Wow, you… you don’t say.”

“I _do_ say!” She giggled, and he joined in.

Percival steered Credence to the nearest chair, which he pulled out for him, then sat down beside him. They did their best to ignore the flirtation going on nearby, but Credence grinned when he heard Jacob offer the girl a sampler plate for ‘especially good customers.’ 

***

As soon as they were back inside the apartment and the cat’s cases had been opened, Queenie returned immediately to her linen closet nest. Kowalski followed, presumably to help her keep the spot warm, and the mood of quiet anticipation seemed to fall heavily over the household. There was a waiting tension, not necessarily unpleasant, and it wasn’t lost on Percival that some of that had to do with what he’d said back at the coffee shop--the invitation to Jacob that he’d practically blurted out. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant, himself, only that he wanted to be welcoming to the people in Credence’s life, and that he wanted Credence’s continued presence in his own life more than anything. 

They were still fresh from their coffee and pastries, and so it made sense to hold off before fixing anything to eat, instead choosing to snuggle together on the sofa and simply _wait_. And Percival was torn--between wanting to take things in charge, lock it down and make it all _official_\--and knowing that it might be a bit too much (not to mention too soon) to push. 

“It was so nice of you, to invite Jacob over for dinner that way,” Credence suddenly piped up on the sofa next to him, with that soft gold blanket pooling over both their laps. “I thought that was really sweet, and he seemed so surprised.” 

“He did, didn’t he?” Percival answered as he wrapped his arm around Credence’s shoulders and pulled him in a little closer. “I-- I should apologise for simply volunteering your culinary skills the way I did, though. I mean, I don’t like to assume…” 

“No, it’s okay!” Credence rushed to reassure him, “you can… you can assume. About that, I mean.” 

Percival gave him a long, fond look, assessing just what, if anything, he was meant to read into the words. “You don’t mind?” he asked. “Cooking for the three of us? Normally, I’d have my cook take care of it, but that seems a bit impersonal in this case.” All of that was true, of course, but what were they really talking about here? Cooking? Or living together? It seemed crazy to think of jumping into something like that so soon, and at the same time, Percival could hardly bear to think of Credence living anywhere else. The only problem was, saying so outright was likely to scare the boy off rather than wind up with him moving in. It was frustrating, and entirely out of Percival’s depth, having a problem he couldn’t simply wave a few bills at like performing some kind of magic trick. 

“It…. it might be even more than three, if things shape up with Jacob’s mystery lady as quickly as they looked like they might this afternoon,” Credence laughed. “You know, it’s funny…. it’s autumn, but it feels almost like spring with, well… with everyone finding romance, so to speak.”

The look of wide-eyed hope Credence gave him then had Percival’s throat feeling tight, something desperate and begging for action fluttering around in his chest. He was panicking, he knew it, and being ridiculous to boot, but he couldn't help it. He gave Credence another long look, incapable of finding any words that he could say. He’d never been good with this. Oh, to _hell_ with it. 

“Credence,” he cleared his throat and gave him one more meaningful glance. “I, um… I’ve got to head out for a little bit. I just…. I remembered an errand I need to run before the kittens come and this whole thing is… settled.” 

“Oh-- okay…” Credence answered, watching with his mouth half-open as Percival freed himself from the tangles of the gold blanket and made his way towards the hall with the reassurance that he’d be back soon. 

***

Credence looked at the door as it closed behind Percival and all but sank in on himself. _Why_ had he said that? God, he was such an idiot! Talking about romance as if Percival had said anything of the kind. Making assumptions just because he was madly, irrevocably… It was no use.

Percival might have… shown him how he felt about him, in so many ways, or so he’d thought. But somehow… somehow, he must have misunderstood, thinking being with him meant as much to Percival as it did to him. Tears were pricking at the backs of his lids and, with a heavy heart, he went to the guest room to start packing.

While he gathered up his few belongings, he tried to take comfort in the knowledge that Percival _did_ want him to come back for that dinner the following week, but somehow, his joy about that wouldn’t rematerialise. It wasn’t enough, he knew that all of a sudden. Just being an occasional guest, a visiting date. Until Percival, Credence had never known whether he was cut out for a casual relationship, never having had any kind of relationship, but now it was crystal clear to him that he wasn’t.

After several blissful days of domesticity with Percival, with Queenie and Kowalski, in this beautiful, warm home… he couldn’t bear the thought of his impersonal, cold, lonely borrowed place. He envisioned cold winter nights (the thought of which hadn’t bothered him before this week) of just Kowalski and him, huddled under every blanket they could find, both of them pining for those for whom they would never be good enough in the long run. They didn’t belong in this world--Percival’s and Queenie’s world. How had he not even thought about the fact that Percival would _never_ be able to take him to business dinners, parties, functions... He was a nobody.

When it came time to decide whether or not to pack the beautiful red sweater, or the gold throw, Credence hesitated. Would Percival want them back? He was not cruel. He’d likely want Credence to keep them, knowing about his lack of heating. In fact… yet another new wave of sadness washed over him. Maybe that’s why he’d been given these cosy, thoughtful gifts in the first place? To keep him warm once he was back where he belonged.

He spent a long time walking back and forth to the living room, and eventually decided on a compromise; he would keep the sweater, unless Percival asked him to return it. He could wrap Kowalski in it to keep him warm too, if necessary.

Speaking of Kowalski… Credence began to collect up his toys--the ones he’d brought with him--and wrapped them in the afghan, under Queenie’s scratching post. Then he went to the linen closet to check on him. He lay there, on top of the luxurious pile of fabric, curled around Queenie protectively, and that’s when Credence’s knees gave right out, and he slid down the wall to the floor and began to cry, clutching the afghan to his chest.

***

As soon as Percival had left his apartment, he’d almost turned back. Then, at the little locksmith’s, waiting to get a set of keys cut, he’d again questioned the hastiness of his actions, despite having committed thus far. In the end, he’d figured he may as well see it entirely through, and if Credence wound up thinking him insane, he’d have to face the consequences. The keys had taken no time at all, thankfully, but it was the trip to Tiffany’s that had gotten him really sweating, wondering if he’d completely lost his mind. Was this just his way of throwing money at things he didn’t know how to deal with otherwise, yet again? Or was he honestly being romantic? What he did know was that, when they’d finally placed the little blue box into his hands, he’d left the shop feeling as though it contained his whole heart. 

But when he opened the door to his apartment again, one set of keys jingling in the lock and another resting silent on a bed of satin, he knew he’d done something terribly wrong. Credence was crying, and it was absolutely certain it was somehow all Percival’s fault--he could feel it in his gut. And there he was, down the hall next to the linen closet, slumped against the wall with that hideous, precious afghan gathered in his lap. 

Percival couldn’t remember a time when he was so scared, so twisted up with urgent concern, except for perhaps the night Queenie had gone missing. Now, all he could hope was that whatever this was, it would turn out as wonderfully as that fateful incident had--although hearing the heartbreaking sound of Credence trying to stifle his own tears, he could hardly imagine it. At the sight of Credence’s suitcase, haphazardly set propped next to the sofa with his red sweater even more hastily laid across it, Percival’s stomach sunk so fast it made him dizzy. He knelt down at Credence’s side without even bothering to remove his coat, glancing inside the closet at the same time to make sure everything was still all right with Queenie. She was curled up peacefully with her tail over her nose, although Kowlaski hovered nearby, watching Credence with wide yellow eyes. 

“Credence, baby?” he asked in a gentle voice, only to watch a wave of fresh tears take over with renewed passion. “Whatever I’ve done, please… I’ll make it right. Just tell me what’s wrong?” 

***

Credence gathered up what pride he could muster, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, Percival. It’s just… I… I’m going to miss Queenie, and… Kowalski will too.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was only one part of the reason his heart was breaking.

“Don’t worry?” Percival asked in a croak. “Sweetheart, you’re unhappy. I couldn’t _be_ more worried! You won’t have to miss her, neither of you, and that’s not all this is about, is it?” 

Credence avoided the worried eyes, but Percival raised his chin so he had to look at him. “I…”

“Why did you pack?” Percival asked, sounding as miserable as Credence felt.

“The kittens…” Credence started. “They’re almost here, and you said things were nearly settled, so you won’t need me--”

“I _do_ need you. _Credence_!” Percival cupped his face in both hands. “I’ve never needed anyone or anything like I need you.” He leaned close and whispered, “Not even Queenie.”

Credence gasped. “You mean, to look after the kittens?”

“Lord no! Queenie, and Kowalski, will do that just fine.”

“Queenie _and_ Kowalski?”

Percival’s thumbs swiped across his cheeks, brushing away his tears. “_I_ need you, Credence.”

Credence swallowed. “But… why did you run off like that?” When Percival looked confused, he clarified, “When I started talking about everyone finding romance…” He tried to free himself from Percival’s hands but, as if Percival didn’t dare lose eye contact with him now, he couldn’t. The hands were gentle but firm on his cheeks.

Percival’s face fell. “Oh, god. I did, didn’t I?” He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “Percival Graves, you complete and utter fool.” 

Credence blinked at him.

“Darling, please, _please_ forgive me for having no idea how to do… things like this. I have absolutely no practice dealing with actual human people I care deeply about. I’ve never cared about anyone!” Percival exclaimed helplessly. He took a deep breath. “I never thought, for a moment, how it would look to you, me going off like I did, _when_ I did, and I am so, so sorry. When you said that earlier, all I could think about was that I _had_ to make sure I wouldn’t lose you.” His brows drew together in a desperate frown. “I can’t lose you, baby, and I almost did, through my own stupidity.”

Credence all but held his breath. His tears had stopped, and he hung on every word.

“I felt I had to get this, now, today, before the kittens arrive. The uncertainty is driving me crazy.” Percival snorted. “So crazy, apparently, I can’t even act in a way that makes any sense.”

“Percival, get what?” Credence sniffed. “What uncertainty? What was so important?”

Percival rummaged in his coat pocket and extracted a small, oblong blue satin box. “Okay, I’ve never been so scared in my life, except when I saw your suitcase all ready to go, out there in the living room.” He took Credence’s left hand and pressed the box into it. 

Credence was shaking all over, not with grief now but with a wild, nervous anticipation. Going by the shape of the box, it could be... a watch? A bracelet? Another extravagant gift like that surely wouldn’t make Percival scared. This… whatever it was, this _meant_ something.

“Please, open it. It’s yours.” Percival’s voice was pleading.

Credence sniffed again, drawing his lower lip--a little swollen from crying, like probably the rest of his face--between his teeth. He nodded and opened the box. And inhaled sharply, because it was instantly obvious there was so much more in that box than the gleaming, freshly cut set of keys, and the elegant heart-shaped keychain holding them; it was engraved, with just one word, and a small pair of crystals--one black, one white--clung together underneath the word: HOME.

“Percival…” Credence breathed.

Percival’s hand cupped his cheek again, and he looked at him more tenderly than ever. “Kitten… I love you. I adore you. I’m mad about you. And about your little Spooky boy.”

Credence half sobbed, half laughed at that.

Percival leaned close enough to press their foreheads together. “Please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave us!”

“I don’t want to,” Credence whispered urgently.

“You don’t?” Percival drew him close, nuzzling against his cheek. “You mean you’ll stay with me? You’ll move in properly, for good?”

Credence clung to him, crying all over again. “Yes, Percival!”

Percival started kissing him, every inch of his face until he stopped crying and started giggling. “We’re going to go to sleep at night, together, and we’ll wake up, together, and you’ll be safe here, both of you. I’ll take _such_ good care of you, kitten, I promise!”

“I know, Percival, I know!” Credence started returning the kisses, his fingers moving all over Percival’s face and neck. “I love you so much. I felt so lost, just thinking about going away--”

“Oh, baby. Don’t ever go.” Percival looked into his eyes and, to Credence’s amazement, his own were glistening with moisture too. “You love me?”

“I do.” Credence smiled, his index finger catching a tear at the corner of Percival’s eye. “I really do.”

And Percival kissed him then as if it had been years since their last kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

Confessions of love and tears of joy had inevitably (and quickly) turned to kisses… which grew in their depth and intensity until Percival and Credence were tangled on the floor in the hall next to the closet, moaning and grasping at each other’s clothes.

“Bed, _now_,” Percival had growled, finally, with Credence’s pants undone and pushed halfway down his thighs. He’d lifted him then, bridal style, into his arms and carried him to the bedroom, with plans to stay there until they were both too spent to even move. Credence was nothing less than an absolute vision, flushed and shimmering with a fine layer of sweat as he gripped at the sheets, and knowing that he was absolutely, irrevocably _his_ had Percival nearly ferocious in his desire. Credence had caught the urgency of his passion like a sickness, pressing himself on his stomach into the mattress with a longing look over his shoulder. The sight of the invitation--back arched and trembling knees spread wide--had been nearly more than Percival could take. The only thing to be done for it, to sate his desire and celebrate his triumph, was to take Credence from behind there in the middle of a quiet afternoon. He’d managed a hasty yet thorough preparation, enjoying the sound of Credence’s bitten-off whimpers and desperate encouragements--almost as much as the pleasure of burying himself inside the tight heat that had only just relinquished his plunging fingers. They'd groaned in unison with the first stroke, as if they hadn't already known how exquisite it would feel to join together in such a way. It was their first coupling with the knowledge that Credence would be _staying_, with the word _love_ hanging fresh on the steamy air, and Percival had growled out _mine_ and _kitten_ and _fuck yes_ with every thrust. 

Credence had come within minutes, gripping tight around him like he meant to keep him there, and Percival had followed seconds after--to the sound of _yes yes yes Percival, I love you_… 

***

What was left of the day went by like that--bouts of ferocious, possessive love-making alternating with tender cuddling accompanied by equally tender whispered confessions. Now and then they rested and, at one time, while Percival dozed off, Credence tiptoed out to the kitchen to get them a snack to keep up their strength. 

He smiled all the way there and back. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to stop. Unlike every other emotional rollercoaster in his life so far, these last few days had ended better than he’d dared imagine and, on his way past the linen cupboard, he peeked in at the two little creatures who had changed their lives--Percival’s and his own.

Queenie was cleaning herself excessively, making rumbling purrs and mewling the whole time. Kowalski did a half circle around her, back and forth, acknowledging Credence with a “meow” and by butting his head into his shin.

Credence returned to the bedroom to find Percival propped against the pillows, rubbing his eyes, and giving him a brilliant smile when he saw him return bearing a tray.

“Food is a nice idea, but I like getting you back even more. Come here, you.” He held out his arms.

Setting the tray on the bedside table, Credence climbed on top of him, one knee either side of him. “I wasn’t gone long,” was all he managed to get out before Percival curled his hand around his nape and pulled him into a long, deep kiss.

“Too long. Any time I don’t see you, you’ve been gone too long.” Percival’s voice was both sleepy and rough, and it was enough to make Credence half-hard again, not even taking into account his words.

“You sound like a silly, grumbling bear,” Credence pointed out lovingly.

“Cheeky.” Percival laughed.

“I checked on Queenie.”

“Everything okay out there?” Percival asked immediately.

Credence nodded. “She’s licking herself and sounding as grumbly as you. Kowalski looks on edge.”

Percival’s eyes widened. “It can’t be long then.”

“Oh! Is there anything we need to do?”

“The vet gave me full instructions. If all goes well, she should need no help at all, but I’d say we keep a close eye on her.” 

They nibbled on the sandwiches Credence had made, then decided to shower, one by one for once, to minimise the chance of ‘distraction’ and so one of them would be around at all times.

After a necessary change of bedsheets, they cuddled on top of the bed, neither of them intending to fall asleep, but they did doze off just long enough for the sudden plaintive “meow,” and the paws thumping Credence on the chest, to make them both jump.

Kowalski was kneading Credence’s chest, then turned in a circle and walked all over them both, before leaping off the bed again and returning to the ‘nursery’.

They looked at each other, then rushed after him.

Queenie was panting when they got there, still on her back and cleaning herself, and Percival took the time to get some pillows and blankets for Credence and himself to sit on outside the open closet. She looked up and acknowledged their presence with a grumpy-sounding whine.

Percival reached out and caressed her gently. “Don’t worry, Little Princess, all three of us are looking after you.”

“Mew.” Queenie licked the tip of his thumb.

“She feels cooler than usual.”

“Is that normal?” Credence asked worriedly.

“Yes. They’re due any time now.” Percival frowned. “We need to keep the kittens warm as soon as they arrive. I should get a heating pad…”

“I’ll get it.” Credence squeezed his shoulder and went to find it where Percival suggested he look. He returned and placed it underneath several layers of napkins and towels, and they both shaped a fluffy wall of flannel around the cats and the warmed space.

“Now we wait.” Percival leaned back against the wall opposite the open closet and pulled Credence against his side.

Having worn each other out all afternoon, they both dozed on and off. Never for long--Kowalski kept pacing up and down in front of the closet like the expectant father he was, pouncing on them whenever he thought they really should be paying attention.

Queenie had been in labour for a little over an hour when the first kitten appeared.

Credence was a little shocked at the how, but Percival explained to him that they were born within the amniotic sac, and he was quite impressed at how Queenie knew instinctively how to free it and bite through the umbilical cord. She began to lick the kitten at once, her rough tongue nudging it into taking its first breaths, and it crawled up and nuzzled into her soft fur until it found a nipple to latch onto.

Credence gave a little squeal of joy at seeing the dark little kitten react to the licking and move around, and Percival’s arms closed around him while he kissed the crown of his head.  
“It looks like Kowalski!”

“Hmm.” Percival grumbled thoughtfully, then chuckled. “You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we end up with black smoke kittens.”

Credence looked up at him.

“It’s a rare and very lovely shade of fur--the hairs are white, but the tips black, so the fur is like a cloud of smoke.”

“Oh… that sounds nice.”

“We won’t be able to tell for several months at least.” Percival smiled at him. “Either way, they’ll be beautiful.”

“Percival...” Credence murmured hesitantly.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you going to… I mean, will you… especially if they turn out to have rare fur like that...” He sniffed.

“Hey, no getting upset without telling me first this time, so I can stop it happening.” Percival lifted his chin. “What are you thinking, baby?”

Credence blinked. “You’re going to sell the kittens, aren’t you?” he asked. “I mean, I know you wanted… purebred kittens, and Kowalski kind of threw a… uh, spanner in the works…”

Percival looked deep into his eyes. “Baby, your amorous little boy, and these kittens, are the reason we’re here now. Together. I couldn’t part from them any more than I could from either of you two.”

Credence gasped, threw both arms around him, and kissed him enthusiastically.

Once Percival could breathe again, he smiled at Credence. “_Well_. That alone was worth a whole apartment covered in cat hairs.”

Credence giggled. “I promise, I’ll help keep everything clean. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” Percival kissed him on the tip of his nose. “In fact… I’ve never felt better, or happier.”

Credence sighed and snuggled into his arms, and they watched as, half an hour later, another dark furred kitten emerged. This was followed about an hour later by the third--black again, to no one’s surprise, and they both breathed a sigh of relief their little feline family was complete, Queenie had efficiently cleaned them up, and she was feeding them all.

Percival gathered up what he told Credence was ‘a mess he’d probably rather not know about, but that’s a normal part of the birthing process’ in a napkin and disappeared to discard it. He returned with a bowl of plain yogurt and a bowl of kitten food for Queenie, so she could regain her strength and keep nursing the kittens.

Kowalski was lying beside her, apparently calming down again himself. He licked her ears, paws and nose, but made sure not to disturb the feeding kittens.

***

Curled up in the hallway with Credence, watching (a very exhausted) Queenie as she purred contentedly and nursed her hungry newborns, Percival felt a kind of peace unlike anything he’d ever known. A light rain had begun to fall outside, and checking his watch, he saw that it was well past midnight and had been for a while. 

“Happy Halloween,” he whispered, nudging a sleepy, smiling Credence with his shoulder before wrapping him tightly in his arms. “Your Spooky boy didn’t fail to give us a spooky litter. And…. what I thought was a trick at first turned out to be quite a treat, didn’t it?” 

Credence blinked up at him, looking about as dreamy as Percival had ever seen him. “It is, isn’t it? It’s Halloween already. And the other thing….” Here he grinned. “It _is_ a treat. The best treat of all.” 

“Should we dress up? What would you want to wear for a costume?” Percival asked, only to have Credence bite his lip and glance coyly up at him through his dark lashes. “I only want to wear _you_,” he answered. After everything, Percival felt his cheeks heating up (and other parts taking renewed interest). “All _I’m_ going to be wearing is a blush,” he said. “Credence, what has Kowalski been teaching you, anyway?”

Kowalski trilled at the sound of his name and the both of them laughed. “It isn’t Kowalski who’s had me six ways from Sunday all afternoon,” Credence reminded. “If anything, I’ve learned a few things _there_. 

Percival groaned, exhausted and yet facing the realisation that he definitely had another round left in him before proper sleep was unavoidable. But he had no complaints there, in fact--he had no complaints at all. In less than a week, he’d acquired an entire family to care for, and he couldn’t have been more happy about it. 

“All right,” he said. “Let’s let these two tend to their babies and we’ll get back in bed--if my back doesn’t refuse to let me up off this floor, that is.” Credence giggled, watching as Percival slowly winced his way out of the position he’d been keeping against the wall for at least the past 45 minutes. “I don’t know what you’re expecting in there,” he added, “but it won’t be any acrobatics, I’m afraid.”

Credence hopped to his feet, much like a cat himself, reaching down a hand to help Percival to do the same. “Show off,” Percival grumbled, kissing his temple softly to show that he was only playing. “Tomorrow, after we’ve slept--whenever _that’s_ actually going to happen--we’ll start getting things together regarding your move in.”

Percival watched as Credence’s eyes began to mist, knowing right away that it wasn’t sadness, but rather the opposite that had him starting to cry all over again. “I can’t believe it’s all really happening,” Credence whispered, swiping at his eyes and smiling a little self consciously. “We have these beautiful kittens to love, and each other, and I’m going to live _here_. With _you_.” 

“Believe it, sweetheart,” Percival said, folding him into his arms there in the hall so they could look down on the happy cat family one more time before bed. “In the morning, you’ll _have_ to believe it’s real, when all that meowing wakes us up. God, but we’re going to have our hands full….” 

EPILOGUE

Halloween, and the kittens’ birthday, had been a very quiet celebration. Once they’d got up, Percival had phoned and politely, but firmly, requested the vet come by to visit and check on the new family. After that, he’d informed the building administrator, doorman, etc. that Credence was officially a new permanent resident. For the sake of not leaving the kittens for too long, they’d decided to delay moving the rest of Credence’s things in for a couple of days, instead spending the evening watching _Sabrina_, cuddling, and feeding each other treats.

By the end of the weekend, however, it was all done, and they organised their little dinner party. Jacob, when it was suggested, was all too happy to be allowed to bring along ‘his girl’, sounding extremely proud that she _was_ his girl, too.

They turned up at 7 p.m. the following Friday, dressed up very nicely and full of amazement and awed whispers about how lovely the penthouse looked, how kind it was to invite them, and, of course, how adorable the kittens were.

They had just about doubled in weight over that first week, as they were supposed to, and were not yet venturing from the linen closet, where Queenie made sure to let them nurse any time they needed to. Kowalski, while more active than the rest of his family at that point, was never far away, and kept a close eye on the visitors when they knelt in the hallway to ooh and aah at his babies while making sure not to touch them as instructed by a cautious Percival. Not that anyone, for a moment, believed Queenie capable of abandoning them for that reason or any other.

Jacob’s girlfriend, sporting a pale pink ensemble with another faux fur cape, was immensely amused when Credence confessed over dinner that, with her preference for pale, fluffy coats, she reminded him of Queenie. She told him that, as her name was Betty--short for Elizabeth--and there had certainly been enough queens with that name throughout history, she’d proudly accept the nickname and take it as a big compliment.

By the time the guests left, they were all the best of friends, even if Percival grumbled a bit about, once again, losing spectacularly at Monopoly, this time to all three of them.

It was all entirely forgotten the moment Credence snuggled into his embrace in their bed.

“How have I ever managed to sleep without you in my arms?” Percival murmured into his hair, tightening his hold on him.

Credence smiled into the crook of Percival’s neck. “I don’t know, but you’ll never have to again.”

Percival sighed contentedly. “I”ll hold you to that, kitten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat all things Credence Barebone/Percival Graves with us? Send us fan art? ;) Find us on Twitter!  
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